18 Nov


I’m not a barber, I’m a hairdresser or “stylist” or whatever faggy-sounding thing you want to call it. I have a cosmetology license, and part of my beauty school training was in doing mani/pedis, applying makeup, doing up-dos and perms, all that masculine stuff.

My dad still has issues with calling me a hairdresser when people ask him what his son does. I think a typical exchange with him is something like: “My son cuts hair.” “Oh, he’s a barber?” “No, he’s a hairdresser, but he’s not gay.” Cutting hair in general seems to be a big Italian thing though for some reason, like Koreans do nails and Eastern Europeans do waxing, not sure why that is. My motivation for becoming a hair-person was that I graduated from an unremarkable state college with an unremarkable GPA in my English degree right around the time the dot com bubble burst, followed by 9/11, and trying to live off freelance writing jobs and entry-level publishing grunt-work kind of sucked, as did the administrative office job I ended up doing for three years while trying to figure out what to do with myself.