UNFAITHFUL: Am I A Chair Hopping Barber Whore?
I’ve been seeing Johnny (in the picture above) exclusively for over five years now. A mutual friend introduced us and the moment he first laid clippers to my head, I knew he was the one. Prior to meeting Johnny, I had a string of lackluster barbers. There was the one that loved to converse more than he loved to cut hair. The one who was unreliable and never showed up to the shop on time. And then there was the one who just couldn’t cut hair. Period. I’d get out of his chair with my hairline looking like Anthony Hamilton’s beard. I’ve got what I like to call an ignorant, unforgiving hairline. It takes a skilled barber to make me look presentable. When Johnny passed the test, making my hairline look smart and sharp, I was hooked. It didn’t matter that his shop was situated in the heart of the Bronx, far, far away from my house. I mean, honestly, who goes to the Bronx for anything ever? I didn’t care that he didn’t speak a lick of English. It’s better that way. I come in...
