Getting your barnet chopped can be a really traumatic experience, I feel more nervous sat in that chair than I do in any dental surgery. My current choice of barbers is "Mr Topper's", mainly because it's cheap and I'd got sick of paying £25 to an over-chatty cockney near London Bridge. There are loads of them in central London, with 4 on or just off Tottenham Court Road alone. The titular Mr Toppers is of course a nattily attired frog. His shops have red and white tadpoles outside them. I made that one up myself. Pictured is one of the many branches on Tottenham Court Road, right next door to where
Moon hawks her mucky wares.
I'm pretty unadventurous when it comes to coiffeury. Choosing between the #4 or the #5 razor is about as exciting as it gets. One time in Leeds I was given a half-price voucher to get my hair done in a proper swish studio. Ok, I thought, let's go for something different here. If I'm ever going to get a trendy 'do' then this is surely the time to do it. These people must really know what they're doing. It was a bizarre and awkward experience. The main man was called Andreas. Check out that card! [I found this the other day when rooting through yet another box of jumbled crap that I've accumulated over the years].
Look at him! Is he plucking out hairs one by one? He looks like he's in panto. The sculpted facial hair! And what is an 'artist hair technician'? Or is it supposed to be 'artist', 'technician', and, er, 'hair'? British hairdressing team member! London 2012 here they come. Why the apostrophe after the name?
To be honest I don't think I really tested his artist hair technician skills to the max. He zoomed around behind me on his stool (which was a bit like a space hopper on wheels. I wanted to have a go), looking at my head from different angles, lifting bits of hair up, tilting his head a bit....no doubt considering a massive array of different stylish cuts. Occasionally he would pause to snap at one of his young female assistants. His opening gambit: "Ok, I'm thinking we shave it really short from the front, and work back leaving it longer as we go". "Hmm....," my face wrinkled up, indicating that I wasn't totally enthused by that option. Andreas sensed my apathy and considered some more, probably stroking his immaculate beardy bits. "Right...something asymmetrical, I think that could look good. Short on the left side, but leaving it long on the right, down over your face." Increasingly uncomfortable, I mumbled, "ermm...I'm not sure...don't think so....". I think Andreas began to sense that I wasn't really the kind of customer he wanted or required as his muse. "Ok, do you have any ideas?"
"Erm...I was thinking more short back and sides."
I got a functional, smart cut (£25! half price!). He must have been disgusted! To him it must have felt like getting Elle McPherson to model a burkha. At least we parted on a positive note: "After I've cut your hair a couple of times I'll have a real feel for it and know more about how your hair works. Then we can do something really good." "Cool, that sounds good."
Six years on, I am yet to return.
