“A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.” – Coco Chanel
That may be true for chicks. I mean, who am I to argue with Coco Chanel. Didn’t she have her own network? Channel Number 5. Before that it was HBO.
It’s different for guys. One minute you look like Jim Morrison on the Best of the Doors album, or Fabio on the cover of one of those “bodice rippers”. Then the next day you look like the Unabomber when they dragged him out of his cabin in Montana. Or like Saddam Hussein when he was flushed out of his spider hole. What never occurs to you about either Saddam or the Unabomber, (“Teddy boom-boom” as his Supermax buds call him), is that they could have looked worse.
How, you ask? After a session of nag, er, discussion, they could have consented to their wives giving them a “trim”. Now we are no lexicographers, but the ordinary gloss given to the word “trim” involves a few snips here and a little buzz there, rather than a wholesale deforestation of the landscape sufficient to alarm the most grizzled forest ranger.
There are trends in everything: in fashion, in music, in education and even in auto design. We remember when women wore pillbox hats and men wore fedoras. There was the blues, and country, then Tin Pan Alley, Swing, Rock & Roll and Rhythm & Blues, then disco then Punk and Rap. We used to pray in school and all the cars had fins and rear wheel drive. We won’t venture into ladies’ coiffures, but for men it was usually a question of long or short. Astronaut or Beatle. There were some freak flags flying, and you could tell the real fruitcakes by their man-buns. Otherwise, it was over-the-ear or high-and-tight. Who brought up the mullet? We’re going to ask you to leave.
So we didn’t think Mrs. Idler could go too far astray with the trim concept. Coupla swipes with the shears, some strategic scissors work and you got yourself a haircut.
We look like one of the thugs in “Peaky Blinders”.
She said she lost control of the shears, that once she went a little too far with one pass, it had to be “evened up” all around until she was nearing the treeline, beyond which lies the demilitarized zone where the undergrowth becomes a little sparse and about which we’d just as soon not elaborate. Had she stopped at the first unevenness, we would have been fielding remarks from our buddies like, “Boy-howdy, that haircut looks a little uneven there on the one side!” Instead of, “Ha-ha! Look at that! What happened, you trip into a lawn mower?”
Now they’re talking about re-opening the economy and time is no longer on our side, there seem to be only a few ways out of our predicament. Fedoras might magically come back into style. Or maybe we find someone skilled in the tonsorial arts to repair the damage. Our regular barber likes to advertise that he can “fix” the unfortunate work of less talented practitioners. Hey Carmine, what can you do with a “Kim Jong Un”?