Adventures in haircutting

I have a confession: I hate getting my hair cut. To me, the thought of someone slicing strands from my scalp is as unpleasant as a trip to the dentist. However, hair management is a necessary component of a healthy lifestyle and certainly a concern for those who would like to cultivate a stylish appearance. Yet, in this aspect of personal style, I fall embarrassingly short. I'm one of those people who do exactly what hair care professionals advise against: I wait months between cuts and sometimes don't bother to use conditioner. Needless to say, my locks aren't as wonderful as they could be.

I congratulate all those people who pay special attention to their hair and participate in the fast-paced world of ridiculously chic hair salons and bizarre color treatments. This is a world I may never fully understand, but I have attempted to break into the scene.

I wanted to discover for myself those sumptuous salons on Newbury Street where they massage your scalp and give you exotic tea while you wait. I wondered if these supposedly-perfect haircuts are really worth the expense. Here is a tale of my hair cutting adventures that I hope will shed some light on your own quest for stylishly-coiffed tresses.

We begin with a visit to an establishment I shall call "Salon A." I discovered "Salon A" while flipping through one of those free college student guides to Boston they often have at Mail Services. I had been psyching myself up for a haircut for quite some time and decided that this salon just might be interesting enough to distract me with its mod d?©cor and hip music while razor sharp metal implements were flying at my head.

I booked an appointment and soon enough it was time to begin my journey. After finally locating the business among the millions of salons on Newbury Street, I was greeted by a moderately pleasant receptionist. After giving my name, I was told to have a seat while the receptionist proceeded to go and talk excitedly to a group of stylists in the back of the salon. Apparently, the staff was convinced that I was Lucas Haas (you know, that Amish kid in the Mel Gibson film Silent Witness). While I'm sure it can be fun to be mistaken for a celebrity, I was a little weirded out when the shampoo guy kept asking me, "Are you sure you aren't he?" I briefly considered playing along but decided that I just didn't know enough about the film career of Lucas Haas to construct a conversation.

The weirdness did not stop there. After the shampoo massage and several cups of tea, the cut began. Unfortunately, the d?©cor and the music were not nearly distracting enough to make me stop thinking about how much I hated strangers touching my head. Now, I know one must expect to have their bubble of "personal space" violated while getting one's hair cut, but I was not prepared to have my stylist press up against me for the duration of the process. It is one thing to have a stranger touch your head, but quite another to experience full body contact. Gross, I know. Needless to say, that was the only time I went to "Salon A."

Months passed, and I was finding it difficult to see from behind my bangs. This time around, I convinced a friend to come along. I highly recommend this approach for those of you who are less than excited by hair cutting (it's always nice to know that you are in it together). This next salon, "Salon B," was quite a bit more exciting. Both the music and the d?©cor were sleek and stylish, plus there was a complimentary espresso bar with fine cheese and other tasty morsels.

The haircut itself did not turn out to be as good as the food. This stylist remained at a comfortable distance but seemed quiet resistant to any direction. This is always a problem if you have a clear idea of how you want your hair to look. After asking for a little more to be taken off the sides because it looked too "poofy," I was told that was precisely the way it was supposed to look and that no more could be trimmed off the sides. This left me a little disgruntled because if I'm going to shell out the big bucks, I want to like the end result (even if I don't enjoy the process).

After these less than fabulous experiences, I decided that perhaps those extravagant salons on Newbury Street aren't all they're cracked up to be. For me, the price did not translate into the professionalism and quality I expected. Next time around, I'm grabbing a friend and heading to Supercuts. I figure I can deal with most things if the price is right. Plus, with the money I will save, I can buy a whole plate of imported cheeses.