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A Haircut Reveals More Than a Face
Like many New Yorkers, this week I got my first haircut in months. A few hours later, I caught a glimpse of the shorter styling in the bathroom mirror and did a double-take. I did not recognize myself and had a minor post-quarantine stress disorder reaction.
A lucky, macabre hunch paid off in early March. I heeded all the infection numbers in New York State and read endless online posts declaring “We need to shut the state!” My kids and I all got haircuts on a sunny Sunday afternoon. By the time we got home, the text message arrived from the Department of Education — all school programs were closing, effective immediately. Local businesses followed suit, including nail salons and barber shops. As a consequence, thus began the long descent into personal grooming mismanagement.
Although I was being seen nowhere, except the occasional Zoom conference, I made some effort to rotate my shirt selections. Sweatpants gave way to shorts as temperatures rose. But day after day, the reflection in the mirror meant less and less. I washed my face, wet down the hair (which grows mainly in the back), and headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for hungry mouths.
Our local barbershop posted an intriguing image on Instagram, of the staff performing a haircut-by-appointment on an anonymous customer’s backyard deck, wearing full personal protective…
