It’s been five weeks since I last had my hair cut, and as it was in danger of making me resemble a mushroom with it’s growing sides and resolutely refusing-to-get-any-longer-top, I decided that today, I would get it trimmed. It has grown differently the last few years; the texture has changed, the sides seem to grow thicker, and the 33 year-old hairline is slowly but surely receding.
As to where to go, it’s never a hard decision to make. There’s an independent place in Romilly Street, which I’ve been going to, almost exclusively, for the last few years. Its wood-panelled walls are lined with black and white rock star pictures, and the selection of quirky and bright framed postcards add to its charm. The charge of £5 is very reasonable too, beating some places back home. It’s true, for that money, a basic cut is all you get, with no finishing touches or styling products. But, when you don’t have that much of a barnet to cut, why pay over the odds?
But, also vying for my money is Mr Toppers in Old Compton Street, just literally around the corner. Charging £6, it’s already on a losing footing, but with its happy (and sometimes loud) gaggle of largely Aussie and New Zealand girls, it’s sometimes more fun, with interruptions to the chirpy banter welcome, should you feel you want to contribute.
And, if you should fancy ‘Doing a Britney‘, it’s certainly the place to go. Last time I visited, I was trimmed by a Spanish guy, who was talking to one of the bubbly girls about her most recent piercing. I was trying not to eavesdrop, what with one of London’s commerical radio stations playing overhead, and the shop’s generally loud volume, but the conversation proved too intriguing. ‘What were you talking about?’, I asked? I soon wish I hadn’t posed the question.
‘We were talking about her piercings,’ the guy answered back. ‘Do you have any?’, he then enquired. ‘No,’ I replied, not really knowing where the conversation was going. He then explained that there was a body piercing and tattoo parlour ‘downstairs’, and then asked if I was sure I didn’t want any.
And there was me thinking a barber’s shop was just a barber’s shop. How very 2006. The conversation went a little quiet after that.
Not qute as quiet as the time I went into the Toni & Guy Academy in New Oxford Street, though. For a cheap £5 cut, I had to let a trainee let loose on my hair. As I normally have a grade 2 clip around the back and sides, with a short scissor cut on top, and as ‘clipper’ is a dirty word at Toni & Guy, it took over two hours. Each of the hairs were literally cut by hand, and after the bleached blonde punk-gothic trainee had cut her finger after the first five minutes, I knew it was quite literally going to be painful.
It does have other uses though. Some Londoners use it as a dating service. Cute.
But, as I didn’t fancy following the latest attention-craving popstar trend, I went back to the Romilly Street place today.