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When I was sixteen, my plans to have a Mohican
hair style like DeNiro in Taxi Driver were scuppered by my Mum who decided
it looked too much like “fanny pubes”. We compromised and decided I
could have the Brazilian strip down the centre, but just short on the sides
rather than bald to avoid any real resemblance to a vagina. So I went into the
hairdressers where they did as I'd asked, I looked into the mirror and told
them it was fine. I thought it looked good! I then got home and my Mum decided
I should have had it slightly shorter on the sides and so dragged me back to
get more shaved off. “Wait outside for a second” she said to me before going in
on her own. She returned a minute later and said that they'd agreed to correct
it for free. That was nice of them, I thought! I went in cheerful as ever and
was greeted by the frostiest haircut I've ever had in my life. They didn't
speak to me, they didn't look me in the eyes, they didn't smile… turns out that
in an effort to save a few quid, my Mum had told them that I thought their
original efforts were full-on shit and that I was fucking pissed off. Oblivious to this, I then re-entered like a
smug little twat and tried to make casual small talk as though I hadn't just sent a banshee in to do my
dirty work. That was the last haircut I ever went for. Even if being a skinhead
would make me look like a massive racist thug, it's better than returning to
that void of social awkwardness.