The Bradism Guide to Haircuts
A long time ago I went around three months between haircuts. I guess you could have called them "seasonal".
My theory behind this scheduling was that I didn't like haircuts, mostly due to the awkward conversations with hairdressers that came with them. My strategy was to have my hair cut short (which looked bad) and let it grow to the point I couldn't put off getting another haircut (which also looked bad).
It seems rational that somewhere near the midpoint there would be a period where my haircut looked reasonable. Unfortunately this wasn't true due to a combination of factors. I have thick hair, a strong cowlick, a prominent crown and the propensity for my hairstyle to turn into a mullet overnight. Unfortunately this was back in the time that mullets were not ironically fashionable.
Now with decades of experience I think I'm getting my head around how to order a haircut. For posterity, I will record it here in my narcissistic journal. Presume that the starting point is hair everywhere.
The back and sides should be shaved with a blend of 6mm and 10mm clippers. Any stray hairs growing below the natural hairline and around the neck should be clean shaven.
The hair on top should be cut to around two inches of length with scissors, before being thinned vigorously.
Around the crown and the sides of the head the clippers should be used to shape the longer hair around the edges, removing any prominent sideways growth which doesn't possess enough weight to fall closer to the scalp.
That's it. That's my haircut. It sounds really simple, but it took me a lot of living to realise that a haircut wasn't about going for an extreme, or a uniform length. It was about taking the best of one thing (long on top) with the seemingly opposing trait of another thing (short hair).
And that's a lot like Autumn. The best of one season (warm days) with the best of another season (temperate weather).
Yes, I did get a haircut today. That was after a sunny afternoon walk where I wasn't sweaty when I reached the barber's chair, and before a fresh evening breeze that didn't make me cold because of a naked neck.
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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.