BEAUTIFUL MAN

by Maddy Stolk

I always come out looking much better than when I went in. It's also a neighborhood pub, psychologist, and takeout Chinese all in one. My hairdresser rocks. He looks like a blonde angel – and behind such a sweet and innocent face hides, almost without exception, the biggest rogue. So it's always a treat when I take a seat in the barber's chair, not least because I always get a double gin and tonic pressed into my hands, as part of the idea that a good start is half the work. After that, I get to share my adventures – although I've been running out of things to say about them lately – and then he goes to town. I now know more about Grindr than I care to, and I've seen more screenshots of naked loins than is good for an average person (images that pop up in my mind at the most inconvenient times, like when I'm at the doctor with an impending bladder infection, for example). If he ever wants to hang up the scissors, he could always start a relationship advice bureau, with an extensive extra package for online dating and casual hook-ups. In an hour in that barber's chair, I learn more about the (lack of) emotional life of straight and gay men than in five years of dating in the wild. To top it off, there's a massage chair by the sink, so while he's working his hands through your hair, your backside gets a shiatsu massage. I'm telling you: I always come out feeling reborn.

As a notorious latecomer (which apparently are the most fun people, I read once and I want to believe that; my best friends are always at least half an hour late too, so we always arrive at the same time – but I digress), I've had to call in the Thai more than once because I had no time for something as trivial as eating between work and hairdresser/psychologist/pub appointments. And while I'm nibbling on my Pad Thai at the bar (yes, he also has a bar in the place, with bar stools and everything), I get an extensive report on the state of affairs in media land, because he gets just about everyone in his chair. All very proper, of course, without names and numbers, but it's quite a treat.

Before the glaze jumps off your teeth after this sickly sweet love declaration: my hairdresser is also quite deceitful. If I've waited too long and my roots take on Cruella De Vil-like proportions, he pushes my head forward in front of the mirror and my parting aside and says: ‘Lóók now! This is never going to work with you and the men.’ And after I had a few good nights‘ sleep before leaning back in his chair, he exclaimed enthusiastically: ’What have you done?! You've had something done! You haven't looked this good in years, those horrible bags under your eyes are completely gone!' Thanks, honey.
But still: I can take it from him, and he had a point: those bags, a whole tribe could live in them by now. And some people are so charming while being deceitful that they get away with everything.

Anyway. Why this ode to my hairdresser? Because some people just deserve one sometimes. So Dennis, this one is for you.