July 26th, 2011
April 7, 2011
Until I moved away from home to go to college, every single haircut I’d received was delivered by my beauty-school dropout mom. Her cuts were convenient, consistent, and always free. She’d use a simple set of shears and a tablecloth for a smock. She never asked me those dreaded questions I now get when I sit in the stylist’s chair, like “So, how do you want your hair?” or “What are we doing with your hair today?” Instead she took charge and just gave me what she wanted.
Last fall marked my SF five-year anniversary, a commitment to a place I like to call the “weird capitol of the world.” Once settled in, it was time to search for that barber, stylist, or hairdresser I could trust. To this day I still don’t claim loyalty to any one person in particular. I’m like a hair drifter in a sea of stylists.