Six years later I’m still searching for a hair stylist in LA. And I’ve tried them all: upscale salons, cheap-ass barbers, hipster barbers, ethnic barbers, freelance hair stylists. I’ve tried them all. And guess what, I the end they all suck. Some last longer than others. Liz lasted a few years. When I first moved to LA and had to leave Brad behind in New York, I found her at the Jonathan Salon. I called the salon because, don’t laugh, I knew it from watching “Blow Out” on Bravo. Guilty as charged. Liz wore fuck me pumps and hated her then husband. Good enough, I thought. I enjoyed staring at her tits and ass and caught a few glances of her toe cleavage.
Back then I thought my hair looked good. Well, Facebook proves the opposite was true. Facebook will keep a vain man honest and humble. You better believe it. After Liz, I decided to try a barber for a change. Well, Angel sucked. So did Travis. That chick at Baxter Finley acted as if I had offended her just by showing up. No smile, barely a hello. I don’t expect a bow and a blow job but please, you’re in the service industry.
So next up was Justin the junkie. I soon learned that with him I’d receive one really good cut out of every four. Or five, if he was in the middle of a relapse. I need my haircutter to bat better than two-fifty. There’s no slacking in hair!
I found Luke on Instagram. He was nice and did a good enough job and I liked the shop. He was newly sober and I felt I could be of service to him. But within the next couple of visits I found out what a moody bitch he can be and how al-anon I really am. I was petrified to ask him to fix some strays. Don’t anger the coke-head! And then he began to ignore my instructions and I ended up looking like my dad. Major bummer.
I can’t afford for my hair to be just another source of distress. There are plenty already. Money. Parenthood. Parents. Marriage. Back hair. Traffic. Weather. The line at Starbucks. Earthquakes. Douche bags. The gym. TV. Cleaning up after myself. Penis size. Blackheads. Noise. Fashion. Age. Nose hair. Career. Other people. The meaning of life.
Sometimes I have the impulse to shave it all off. Get rid of the stress and be free. But then I get scared. Because happiness is good hair.