Scared Straight

For about 15 years now, I’ve had a rule: no one with a penis gets to cut my hair. This harkens back to being taken to a barber when I was 13 or so. I’d been leaving my hair fairly long in the traditional “bowl cut” for years. There was a delightful lady at a salon who had been cutting it for a couple years since we’d moved to a new town. For some reason, my mom decided that I needed to go to a barber instead. Without any consultation from him, my hair was instantly shaved off. There was no discussion. I remember him saying something about how he had just assumed that is what we wanted and that was pretty much all he knew how to do. I cried. Lots. Thus, the rule was born. Penis possession = no scissors coming near my hair.

I broke the rule today. The Faerie Princess had heard me talk about having to drive out to the middle of nowhere (Palomar) to get my hair cut and my ungrateful (not so much a thank you for at least 10 regular and maybe 10 more occasional new clients) stylist. With enthusiasm and with assurance that he “does good boy hair,” she encouraged me to see her Hair Gay. It took a couple of months before I could finally get up the courage to break the rule, but I made the appointment last week and went today.

I can’t say enough great things about him. The haircut was spectacular. While my “style” may not be terribly different than it usually is, it’s more finished, more polished. The little things that make my hair what I’ve always kind of wanted, it now is. Nevermind that the Hair Gay is much closer and appears to understand the value of repeat business and referrals. I actually can’t wait to get up in the morning, just so I can “do” my hair. Seriously, it’s that good.

So, I think the rule will be amended. Penis possession + penis appreciation = perfectly acceptable. You’d think that being gay I might have already figured this out. It’s just that there is another truth at work here. Gay guys scare me. Like seriously freak me out.

It’s just that the gays tend to have high expectations. The hair should be perfect, the clothes perfectly styled, the skin should be flawless, the teeth straight and whitened (even if you smoke), the stomach should be flat and the perfect witty response to everything should always be on the tip of your tongue. It’s pressure. It’s also something that’s just not within my capacity to attain. I always feel like I’m depleting the fabulous of the room, like the other gays are wondering how I managed to get into their club.

This is all to say NOTHING bad about the Hair Gay. He was fabulous, welcoming, personable and again gave a FANTASTIC haircut. I’ll be going back. And now that I’ve broken the rule, maybe I can work on getting over my own little homo-phobia one appointment at a time.