Haircuts are the worst. No exaggeration, I would rather peel off each and every one of my toenails once a month than have to get a haircut biweekly. Something about being hogtied by an apron while a man with strange tattoos holds sharp objects against my scalp amidst forceful small talk just isn't appealing to me. Obviously, I try to get a cut as little as humanly possible. I pull up to the shop only when my hair looks like an oversized toupee and my beard looks like I took all of Seth Rogen's pubes and haphazardly glued them all over my face. Typically, the gameplan consisted of just waltzing into the nearest supercuts or sportsclips and getting the worst haircut you've ever seen from a single mom of three. I was OK with getting horrendous haircuts because although they might've been terrible barbers, they were unbelievably fast with their performance. I was in and out quickly, looking like a 3rd grader whose little sister just cut his hair for picture day. That was the life I chose and I loved it. Unfortunately, like all good things, it had to come to an end. Being immersed in the professional world meant I was forced into getting a mid-fade combover. I was truly shocked to see that a mid-fade combover was one of the top requirements in 75% of Fortune 500 companies. That left me with two options; lie on my resume and wear formal headwear every day to the office to hide my secret, or find a barbershop. Naturally, the obvious choice with my collection of bucket hats, beanies and Mac Miller inspired snapbacks, was lying about the mid-fade combover. Unfortunately, I made it all the way to step 3 in the interview process before a savvy woman from HR uncovered my lies, my lack of fade, and had security escort me out before I even received a job offer. It was time to go to a barbershop.
I was not ready for the culture change. No one warned me. Not a single hint. I googled the nearest barbershop and begrudgingly dragged myself in search of the mid-fade combover. The shop was called "Diesel" which, admittedly, should've been the first red flag I was going down the wrong path. If you ever find yourself going to a place that's named after gasoline or sounds like it could be a men's dating app, maybe seek an alternative option or bring a form of self-defense.
Anyway, I walk into this place assaulted by the loudest DJ Khaled song you have ever heard in your life, greeted by Chip Skylark himself asking me if I want a beer while I wait. Wait? A beer? Listen Chip, I don't know what kinda ponzi scheme you're running over here at "Diesel" but I'm not about to have a bro day with you and your gang of well-groomed men sipping warm Natty Lite out of a suspiciously warm plastic cup. I came into get a mid-fade combover not day drink with the cast of the Jersey Shore. As it turns out they offer complementary beverages because the wait is so long. Over an hour. More than 60 minutes. I literally just need my hair shortened and the backup dancer for Nsync wants me to wait over 1/24 of my day waiting around like cattle for slaughter. I've purchased fast passes at amusement parks, so I don't have to wait an hour for a thrilling experience and Chad Pitt wants me to wait the same amount time for something I hate. I couldn't believe it.
After a heated internal debate and a quick reconnaissance of the situation, I glanced over at the prices. The Diesel boys want me to pay $75 for a haircut/beardtrim. The cut includes an undisclosed activity with a hot towel, and a "neck massage". Yes, you read that correctly, a massage. The sign at the HAIRCUT place told me I was also going to get viciously rubbed down by the strong, meaty hands of an overweight Bad Bunny…. I am strictly here to lose some hair and the army of Drakes trying put me through the most intense spa day of my life. At that point you might as well skip the theatrics and just jerk me off.
I plotted my escape and fled the vicinity with my dignity and my hair untouched and unscathed. It became clear to me if I had to get a mid-fade combover, I would have to attempt it myself.
I have yet to receive a job offer.
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