So I’m really due a haircut. However, I find the entire experience to be a nightmare. I have really bad sensory issues when it comes to people or anything being near my head and the noises of the barbering stuff. I also find the small talk part difficult and struggle to explain to the barber how I want my hair done. Does anyone have any tips if they’ve had similar issues ? Trying to hype myself up to go on Thursday but it’s a struggle lol.
I'm thankfully now at the point where I have so little hair that a self-delivered buzz-cut at home every fortnight does the job.
A trip to the barbers was always a strange one for me. On the plus side, my barber was a nice guy, and had esoteric interests that made the small-talk less small than it might otherwise be. Also on the plus side, the wee barbers I went to was (and remains) a very unchanged and unpretentious little back room that has barely changed one iota since the 1980s when I was first taken there as a child. It used to be a milkshake bar back in the 1950s and a lot of the decor and the terazza fllor etc. is 100% the same, but it's been a barbers for decades. I really relied on going to that one (when I was still going) as I always feel like other places look trendy and I never belong among the trendy - people look accusingly at me with an implied 'No mate, this isn't for you' - and they're right, but those are the places we are increasingly forced into through the erosion of cosier spaces.
But the real negatives were...
Being positioned in front of a mirror under harsh and unforgiving overhead lights and thus being confronted with the full horror of how I actually look.
The dilemma of how often to glance at the mirror to look 'normal' and how much I could get away with looking round the room
The stress of anticipating presently needed head-tilt and angle of inclination, then the shame of a manual correction informing you you got it wrong.
Feeling obliged to apologise to the ones still waiting as I took my sorry excuse for a 'head of hair' over to the chair. I would nearly always (in latter years) say something to them like 'Don't worry, mine won't take long' (gesturing at the acres of baldness) and they'd either look nonplussed or smile politely. Or, on the worst of occasions, kind of sneer/smirk at me with a 'mate, you're pathetic' kind of vibe.
Feeling every muscle in my body tense in that chair, particularly my chest and core, to the point I'd be in physical pain by the time I was able to get up to leave.
Having everyone in the room hear the (very well meaning of course) 'pensioner rate' price (I'm not a pensioner, just bald in my forties) price that I got charged.
Stressing about the tip etiquette (is it enough? Can I fumble through my side of the awkward 'Are you sure?' 'Yep, no problem - bye' exchange even more quickly this time?)
And the worst, the absolutely worst thing of all... Seeing the back of my awful excuse for a head in the opposite wall's mirror, and - below it - the expressions of the faces of the people (sometimes young and cool, sometimes older but dignified) who were obliged to look at it. I was always grateful if I was the only customer in that moment or if the person(s) waiting were reading a newspaper or something.
My worst ever barber experience was about ten years ago. I was feeing extra self-consious and self-hating that day, had no capacity to mask that day, and caught in the mirrored mirror the amused sneer of an effortlessly cool guy with immaculate hair waiting his turn. He saw me catch his eye, started to laugh more, and as my upset and discomfort began to betray itself on my face more and more as the agonising few minutes passed by, he put additional effort into really staring, and smirking/laughing etc. the worse I got. It was a silent but brutal exchange that was like bullying by a total stranger. When I scurried to my coat at the end to pay and flee, he made a point of looking straight at me with a look of utter contempt, disgust, and delight at my shaken state. Never was that feeling of 'Why would you even go to a barbers with that atrocious head of yours, just stay home for your own dignity ffs' communicated to me more intensely than in that moment. The rest of the day was miserable.
When I next went back, I made sure I was well rested, had my shields fully up, prepared for the worst, and it wasn't as bad. I had a few new coping tricks ready too - self-deprecating remarks at the outset to take that power away from anyone else etc.
Anyway, as nostalgic as I am for the wee time-capsule space itself, I'm so glad that I can just buzzcut myself these days as needed, and maybe baldness was the best thing that could happen to me. I never know what to do with my hair when I had it anyway. Mostly a never-on-trend side-shade of some kind I think. I'm the baldest in my family by far, perhaps all the stress of overthinking what others barely even take under their notice is partly to blame!
I'm thankfully now at the point where I have so little hair that a self-delivered buzz-cut at home every fortnight does the job.
A trip to the barbers was always a strange one for me. On the plus side, my barber was a nice guy, and had esoteric interests that made the small-talk less small than it might otherwise be. Also on the plus side, the wee barbers I went to was (and remains) a very unchanged and unpretentious little back room that has barely changed one iota since the 1980s when I was first taken there as a child. It used to be a milkshake bar back in the 1950s and a lot of the decor and the terazza fllor etc. is 100% the same, but it's been a barbers for decades. I really relied on going to that one (when I was still going) as I always feel like other places look trendy and I never belong among the trendy - people look accusingly at me with an implied 'No mate, this isn't for you' - and they're right, but those are the places we are increasingly forced into through the erosion of cosier spaces.
But the real negatives were...
Being positioned in front of a mirror under harsh and unforgiving overhead lights and thus being confronted with the full horror of how I actually look.
The dilemma of how often to glance at the mirror to look 'normal' and how much I could get away with looking round the room
The stress of anticipating presently needed head-tilt and angle of inclination, then the shame of a manual correction informing you you got it wrong.
Feeling obliged to apologise to the ones still waiting as I took my sorry excuse for a 'head of hair' over to the chair. I would nearly always (in latter years) say something to them like 'Don't worry, mine won't take long' (gesturing at the acres of baldness) and they'd either look nonplussed or smile politely. Or, on the worst of occasions, kind of sneer/smirk at me with a 'mate, you're pathetic' kind of vibe.
Feeling every muscle in my body tense in that chair, particularly my chest and core, to the point I'd be in physical pain by the time I was able to get up to leave.
Having everyone in the room hear the (very well meaning of course) 'pensioner rate' price (I'm not a pensioner, just bald in my forties) price that I got charged.
Stressing about the tip etiquette (is it enough? Can I fumble through my side of the awkward 'Are you sure?' 'Yep, no problem - bye' exchange even more quickly this time?)
And the worst, the absolutely worst thing of all... Seeing the back of my awful excuse for a head in the opposite wall's mirror, and - below it - the expressions of the faces of the people (sometimes young and cool, sometimes older but dignified) who were obliged to look at it. I was always grateful if I was the only customer in that moment or if the person(s) waiting were reading a newspaper or something.
My worst ever barber experience was about ten years ago. I was feeing extra self-consious and self-hating that day, had no capacity to mask that day, and caught in the mirrored mirror the amused sneer of an effortlessly cool guy with immaculate hair waiting his turn. He saw me catch his eye, started to laugh more, and as my upset and discomfort began to betray itself on my face more and more as the agonising few minutes passed by, he put additional effort into really staring, and smirking/laughing etc. the worse I got. It was a silent but brutal exchange that was like bullying by a total stranger. When I scurried to my coat at the end to pay and flee, he made a point of looking straight at me with a look of utter contempt, disgust, and delight at my shaken state. Never was that feeling of 'Why would you even go to a barbers with that atrocious head of yours, just stay home for your own dignity ffs' communicated to me more intensely than in that moment. The rest of the day was miserable.
When I next went back, I made sure I was well rested, had my shields fully up, prepared for the worst, and it wasn't as bad. I had a few new coping tricks ready too - self-deprecating remarks at the outset to take that power away from anyone else etc.
Anyway, as nostalgic as I am for the wee time-capsule space itself, I'm so glad that I can just buzzcut myself these days as needed, and maybe baldness was the best thing that could happen to me. I never know what to do with my hair when I had it anyway. Mostly a never-on-trend side-shade of some kind I think. I'm the baldest in my family by far, perhaps all the stress of overthinking what others barely even take under their notice is partly to blame!
Thanks for the reply !! It’s a relief to know that people face similar anxiety and worries about getting a haircut. I was beating myself up over the weekend for postponing it and thought I was being over dramatic. But it’s a situation that has lots of uncomfortable sensory aspects and hard social customs to navigate so it’s understandable why myself and a lot of us struggle with this :)
Your excellent post brings to mind two things that stress me out.
Firstly, you were lucky to have the same barber for so long. Mine always seem to close, quit or generally move on every few years. Having to find a new barber is always a major crisis in my life. I can’t overstate just how much of a crisis!
And tipping. Yeuch. That deserves a whole thread of its own. It’s the sheer uncertainty of the rules and expectations and the certainly that I will get it wrong. Just tell me how much you want and I will pay it!
