A Russian Haircut

With gasoline prices creeping towards $3.00 per gallon you start looking for ways to cut back. Jim Beam instead of Maker’s Mark. Boxer shorts from the Gap rather than Brooks Brothers. So, naturally, the idea of paying $9 for a haircut instead of $35 was very alluring.

Don’t get me wrong. Hien, the Vietnamese fella who’s been cutting my hair for 5 years is top notch. I got no complaints. I always look good. But nine dollars…in Manhattan…how could I pass that up?

So I queue up on Saturday morning, joining the Chelsea boys who pay $9 for their haircuts by Igor, a stocky Russian who really looks like he’d be more comfortable in a butcher shop than a hair salon. I’ll figure out later how to deal with Hien. All I know is that I’ve gotta have one of those good looking $9 Chelsea haircuts.

When it’s finally my turn in the chair, Igor gently fits a white crepe paper collar around my neck and then dramatically drapes me with a black cape. He tells me I look like a priest, and then asks me how I want my hair cut. That’s the end of the conversation. In fact, the entire basement salon is devoid of talking. It’s just Chelsea boys sitting there listening to soft rock music and waiting for Igor to cut their hair.

Igor paws my head, pushes it left, right, wherever he wants it. His style is a bit course, but it feels good. A combination haircut, neck and head massage. His focus is intent. And, he’s clearly doing this because he gets off on barbering. It can’t be for the money. C’mon, nine dollars a haircut?

My mind wanders as he cuts and I’m envisioning a scene back in Moscow where a young Igor is cutting the hair of his Russian army comrades, maybe even giving them a Friday end-of-the week shave. The young Russian guys are all sitting around in their underwear, reading newspapers, playing chess, and taking shots of vodka. Very Tom of Finland.

After about 20 minutes, I’m dismissed. No hair product rubbed in. No attempt to sell me anything. I tip him two dollars – the whole thing’s cost me one-third of what I’ve been paying in Washington. And, it the haircut looks pretty darned good.

As for Hien, he’ll certainly know I went to somebody else. Hair cutters can always tell. I suppose I could lie and say I was out of town unexpectedly and needed a haircut real bad. Or, I could just blame it on the pickup truck, the cost of gas, and the lure of a cheap $9 Russian haircut.