Off the Top of my Head

 Mike Bodnar gets philosophical about haircuts…

 

No, not busy, or doing
anything on the weekend

I am guilty of leaving it too long between haircuts. There, I’ve said it. But, if it pleases the court, I can explain, m’lud …

Two – possibly three – things contribute to my tidy-up tardiness, my hesitation in haircuts, my slowdown of the scissors. The first is that I have little patience for the standard hairdresser questions, such as: Busy day? Any plans for the weekend? Been anywhere nice recently? And so on. The answers to each of these are no, nah, and nope. I should just get them tattooed on my forehead, to save us both time.

Oh how I long to have my tresses treated by a philosopher, or a polymath, anyone with an ounce of something interesting to say or talk about. Unfortunately, high street barbers tend to be Turkish rather than Greek, which is not to say that Turkey hasn’t produced some good philosophers or orators. I mean, I’d be happy to have my hair done by Heraclitus, or any of the other 43 notable philosophers from Türkiye listed by Google. Exactly, who knew?

None of these learned thinkers apparently had anything wise to say about being busy, about weekends, or holidays, but had I gone for a trim by Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi in the 13^th century, he at least could have opened a discussion on universal love, inner searching, and the longing for union with the divine. Alas my locks are not long enough for a haircut or conversation of that length, if you see what I mean. And anyway, I’ve missed an appointment with him by about 800 years.

"The unexamined life is not
worth living"
said no barber, ever

No, what I need is a present-day socratic barber, one who, like Rumi, could ask searching and meaningful questions while snipping away. ‘So, sir, what are your thoughts on religious and atheistic existentialism?’ ‘Planning on writing a treatise on death, freedom, isolation, and the search for meaning over the weekend, are we sir?’ or, ‘I’ve often wondered, as I’m sure you have sir, about the conflict between humanity's tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life, and the human inability to find any in a purposeless, chaotic universe. Have you reached any conclusions yourself about that lately sir?’

If only. But no. Back in 2013, a week away from my wife and I moving overseas for an extended period, I had my follicles fussed over by a woman (my coiffure at the time), and in between snips she asked (predictably), ‘Got anything planned for the weekend?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I’m moving to France to live on a boat.’ She then, without a moment’s pause, proceeded to tell me about a holiday she’d just had in Sydney. Cracker. Bewdy.

The second thing that has me procrastinating over going to the barbers is the spooky, as-yet-unexplainable but absolutely certain link between me having a haircut, and unpleasant meteorological events.

I am to blame...

In short, whenever I get a haircut, the local weather turns cold and windy. Take for example, my visit to Mohammed F yesterday. He’s not Turkish but Fijian Indian, however his conversational repertoire is still confined to the calendar. But I digress; It was quite a nice day – the sun shone, temperature not too shabby, a slight breeze – but what’s this? Gales and showers and sometimes heavy rain for the next three days, followed by another three days of unsettled weather. As I write this, trees are leaning sideways, trampolines are taking flight, and people struggle along leaning at 45 degrees downtown (although some of them might just be drunk).

I am to blame. I know this, because it happens far too often to be coincidence. I have a mind to call the Meteorological Service of New Zealand about a week before each haircut, just so they can re-evaluate their seven-day forecast in light of what’s coming. I probably should announce my hair appointments on social media too, especially with summer just around the corner here in Aotearoa, to enable people to make informed decisions about whether to go ahead with that planned barbecue or not. (Not, I’d suggest).

Personally, I know for sure that whatever I’m wearing when I go for a haircut I will need a beanie and a scarf for afterwards. It’s a given. Socrates would probably have some thoughts on it.

Nothing to see here...

And lastly, the final thing that procrastinates my pompadour, is the sheer lack of raw material that I bring to the salon.

You’ll know what I’m talking about. You only have to look at the photographs on the barber-shop walls, of men with immaculate hair, thick and luscious, gleaming, and often of course linked to a full hipster beard. Hirsuteness personified. Oh, and of course they’re good-looking too, naturally.

Even more challenging for one such as me – where wispy overtook wavy many years ago – is seeing such an ape in the barber’s chair while I wait, and watching the barber asking detailed questions about the style, the trim, the fade, whether the customer would prefer to shape the sideburns, or have the number of his favourite football player razored onto his scalp. Makes me sick.

About the only advantage for me is that my haircuts take approximately five minutes. I have even been known to apologise to the hairdresser for the lack of raw material to work with – my attempt at humour, but of course it doesn’t draw a smile, only a grimace. A grimace of agreement.

Anyway, as I say, I had mine cut yesterday. So that’s me done for another six weeks at least. Maybe even two months, which will take us into December, and hopefully the start of a lovely warm summer here in Aotearoa/New Zealand. Just don’t plan any barbecues.