"Don't get me wrong, if I'm looking kind of dazzled"

Like most men, I am creature of habit. And like most men, when my hair gets a little shaggy I roll into my local SuperCuts, Great Clips, or Fantastic Sam’s. So like most men would, I bristled when my wife strongly encouraged me to get a “big boy haircut” from a “stylist”. After getting a particularly bad cut my last time out (I really think it was more of a language barrier issue than a lack of skill), I finally relented and last night I made a visit to the Tribeca Salon. My first impression was that it was cleaner, smelled nicer, and played better music than any of the places I usually go. I was quickly greeted and offered a complimentary beverage. After surmising that they didn’t offer beer or tequila in this particular kind of joint, I agreed to a glass of wine, which was a nice touch since I had just knocked back two beers at the bar next door. Pretty quickly a gentleman named Steven came out and began the arduous process of “styling” my hair. He clippered it, he washed it (Awkwaaaaaaard), he stopped to chatter with the other “boys” who worked there, he textured it, he stopped to gossip some more, and finally he put some stuff in it and mussed it up in a very trendy way. All told, it took me close to an hour to get the exact same haircut that I can usually get in 15 minutes at SuperCuts (which Steven quickly pointed out is not at all Super, nor is Sam’s Fantastic), but I did get a free glass of wine and Steven recommended a hair product that makes my hair look oddly better than it ever has. I feel fabulous!