Time For a Haircut

As my days in Hong Kong grow fewer and fewer, I often hear myself saying, “Gosh, I’m going to miss this” or “I’m really going to miss that.” In a way, it’s a good thing, because I find myself taking advantage of even the smallest things and enjoying what would otherwise be perfunctory exercises of quotidian life.

Case in point: in about twelve hours, I am flying to the States for my friend Joe’s wedding, and it struck me while looking in the mirror the other day that I should really get my hair cut beforehand. You see, I love the place I get my hair cut here, and just sitting in the chair, using the mirror to gaze at all the photos on the walls behind me, emphasized for me one more time, just how much I love this town. It’s gotten to the point where almost every second of every day does that for me.

Getting my hair cut is something I do about four times a year. I generally get it cut very short, and let it grow out as long as possible, until Kevin or somebody else starts pointing out that it’s really time for my next visit to the barber shop.

The place I get my hair cut here in Hong Kong is an absolute gem. It’s called simply The Barber Shop, and it’s a near-perfect approximation of a 1940s dream, out of some fantastic mixture of Raymond Chandler and Ernest Hemingway.

Back in 2009, when I first arrived in Hong Kong, Kevin almost immediately told me my hair was too long to be a serious member of the finance industry. He recommended The Barber Shop right away, but I held off as long as I could because I had no idea what kind of barbers Hong Kong would have. In fact, not only was I reluctant, I was downright scared to have a local barber touch my hair.

What a fool I was! This place is easily the best barber shop I have ever visited. I should have known right away from their website (http://www.thebarbershop.com.hk/), with a timeline tracing the history of barbering and prominent quote from witty Benjamin Franklin: "Beware the young doctor and the old barber." Now I've not only learned to muddle through an inevitably looming haircut, I’ve grown to love it and look forward to it.

You enter through a somewhat sketchy side alley off Wellington Street in Central. Making things even sketchier is the fact that the entrance is shared with that of a sex toy shop, so I always wonder what the local workers taking their cigarette break in the alley think I’m going into the building for. (Since my hair is usually painfully long, they probably assume the truth.)

After walking up a flight of stairs, you’re suddenly transported into the type of place Humphrey Bogart or Cary Grant would have gotten a cut and a shave back in the good old days. Glamour shots of William Powell, Nat King Cole and Jean Harlow watch over the staff and customers, and a jazzy assortment of music—both modern and classic—plays in the background.

And Sam, the lady who cuts my hair, is very capable indeed. She knows exactly what I want and makes helpful suggestions about length and style, once even telling me that if she cut my hair any shorter my face would look too fat! She’s delightfully chatty and extremely proficient, and I am always completely at ease when I’m in her chair.

The sad truth is that today’s visit to The Barber Shop was probably my last as a Hong Kong resident, though I promised Sam on my way out that I’d make sure to fly back to Hong Kong for my next trim instead of even thinking about trying to find an equivalent in Singapore.