SPIN ME ‘ROUND round, baby, round round NO MORE:

ONE MAN’S PLEA FOR A QUIET HAIRCUT IN THIS TROUBLED TOWN

A Guest Editorial

I hate getting a haircut. There, I said it, right here in the paper of record, and the people of Joiceville can do with that information what they will.

The trouble is the conversation. Every time I sit in that chair, I’m forced to choose between two evils: the small talk or the weird deep dive.

Now, I want to be clear — I’m not afraid of small talk. I’ll happily go a few rounds. It’s low stakes. How’s the weather. Any plans for the weekend. Ready for the holidays. The beauty of these questions is that the answers are short and vague enough that nobody has to pry, nobody has to fake expertise, nobody has to ask a follow-up. Small talk is a gentle current. You float on it. You get out dry.

The weird deep dive is a riptide. Suddenly you need a stance. You need sources. You’re somehow expected to perform as an expert on whatever the heck has surfaced, and friends, I did not come to the barbershop to defend a thesis.

This, as I see it, is the great divide in this town’s grooming economy. You’ve got your fast places — your Sports Clips of the world — and you’ve got your real barbershops. The fast places do a job on my hair that ranges from “shameful” to “acceptable in dim light.” The barbershops? Always on point. Immaculate. But. Barbershop barbers like to talk. They like to get into it.

I wish a barbershop worked like it does in the movies. You face the mirror the whole time, watching yourself slowly transform into a more socially acceptable version of yourself, like a time-lapse of personal growth. Instead, they spin you around. And always — and I do mean always — you end up facing some other poor soul in the exact same predicament, both of you desperately avoiding eye contact. No, sir, I did not see you first. Look at this floor. Would you look at all this floor. Gravity is doing its job down here. The hair clippings are simply fascinating. Also I don’t have my glasses on, so as far as I’m concerned you’re a warm blur and I am legally unable to engage. Please. I feel vulnerable.

And there’s always one barber who wants to chat. If you don’t pick up exactly where he left off on the topic of his choosing, he simply turns and has the conversation with a barber across the room instead, because the man is just trying to kill time. And the topics! Always the randomest stuff. Nature murder videos. Teenagers throwing hands in a parking lot. Liam Newton Johnson. And I’m sitting there thinking, I don’t — I came here for a haircut.

Honestly, I worry about what their algorithm must look like. I have personally curated my own feed into a wholesome cathedral: a loving-dad feed, all DIY projects, LEGO builds, and “51 Things You Missed In The Last Marvel Show.” I have protected my feed. I cannot imagine the chaos these men are scrolling through to arrive at “let me tell you about this video I saw.”

The author wishes to remain anonymous, “for obvious reasons, my barber reads this paper.” The Gazette reminds readers that here in Joiceville, where the water is calm and the corporation is benevolent, a man’s right to a silent haircut shall not be infringed. Letters to the editor may be submitted at the front desk, where someone will absolutely read them aloud to the whole shop.