#cut at a barber’s shop but also i don’t want to go to like wherever my mom goes or whatever

[dreamertrilogys]

augh why is it so hard to find a hair cutting place that does both men’s and women’s hair 😭

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Thirty One

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman was literally shaking as he sat in the car with Damien and the Queen, with Virgil in shotgun and the Queen driving. “Roman, are you okay?” Damien asked softly.

“Yeah,” Roman said, continuing to shake. “I’ve just dreamed of this day for years now. I get short hair again.”

“Any plans?” Damien asked. “In terms of haircut?”

“Probably a quiff,” Roman said. “Not very original, I know, but if it works it works.”

“Very true,” Damien said. “You’d look rather dashing with it.”

“Shut up,” Roman said, blushing.

Damien kissed Roman’s knuckles and said, “Never, my love.”

Roman took as deep a breath as he could in his new binder and sighed. He had insisted on wearing it when he tried on clothes, purely so that he could ride the euphoria of gender-affirming clothes and body at the same time. But all the happiness and nervousness building up in his system meant he was shaking rather violently, and couldn’t see any signs of stopping soon. “You know, between your comments and the plans of the day, it’s not unlikely for me to just faint.”

“I’ll catch you before you hit the ground, my love,” Damien said with a soft laugh. “But I’ll also try to go easy on you for a little while, just until you calm down.”

Roman nodded. Part of his shaking was out of sheer nervousness. What if his mother was right? What if this wasn’t what he wanted? What if the haircut turned out poorly? There were so many ways that this could go wrong, and Roman knew it wasn’t healthy to focus on them, but they were difficult to push from his mind.

As they pulled into the parking lot in the shopping center, Damien growled and Roman swallowed. There were people pointing at their car and pulling out phones, presumably to take pictures. “The drawbacks of being royalty,” Virgil snarled. “The fucking papparazzi.”

“I don’t want to deal with questions,” Roman said faintly. “If I have to hear one more word about my mother today, I’m going to burst into tears.”

“I’ve got you, my love,” Damien said, grabbing Roman’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’s a ten-foot walk to the door. And no one will bother you once you’re inside. If anyone so much as think s about interrogating you, they’ll have me to answer to.”

Roman looked at Damien, noticed the sincerity in his eyes, and smiled softly with a small nod. Damien would be there for him, he didn’t doubt that.

They let go of each other’s hands to step out of the car, and Roman gave the obligatory polite wave to the people before walking past the car to Damien, linking hands with him as they walked into the barber shop.

“Prince Damien!” one man who was cutting another’s hair exclaimed, hastily bowing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m afraid my fiancé is in need of a good haircut, Vince,” Damien said with a grin. “My mother and Virgil are right outside, so no funny business, understood?”

“Of course! I never shave the heads of newcomers unless they ask for it!” Vince laughed. “Have a seat, Your Highnesses, anywhere you like, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Damien practically dragged Roman to a chair in the back, while two barbers puttered around the shop, and Vince finished the haircut. “I only trust Vince to deal with the bird’s nest that is my hair,” Damien explained to Roman. “Not that the other barbers here aren’t excellent, but Vince was the only one I trusted as a child to not yank on my hair when there were tangles, and since then he’s always gotten top priority on my haircuts.”

Roman nodded, not letting go of Damien’s hand for a moment. “Good to know he’s experienced,” he said.

Vince finished brushing hair off the other client, who quickly left, and Vince turned the sign on the door to “Closed.” “For just a bit of privacy, Prince Roman. I know that you must be going through a lot right now.”

Roman smiled nervously as Vince came over. “I appreciate it, thank you,” he said.

Vince draped a sheet over Roman’s shoulders and tied it in the back, pulling his loose ponytail out from under the knot. “Your hair is very healthy,” he complimented. “How short do you want it?”

“Chop it all off,” Roman said. “Much as it’s healthy, it’s entirely too long for my tastes.”

“Oh, I understand that,” Vince said. “Any style or length you want?”

“Quiff please, no longer than four inches. Three would be ideal,” Roman said.

“You’ve got it, Your Highness,” Vince said, taking a pair of scissors out of a drawer and straightening Roman’s ponytail.

Roman clutched Damien’s hand tightly as the scissors went to the base of his skull, and with two high-pitched and expertly placed snips, his ponytail fell to the floor, hair coming to rest above his shoulders in a bob. Roman looked at the mirror and laughed. “I look like a bisexual,” he joked.

“Not for long,” Damien laughed back.

“Taper fade on the bottom?” Vince asked.

“Please,” Roman said.

“Hang on one moment,” Damien said, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons. “Hey, Remus?” Damien asked into his phone.

“Yeah, you’ve got me!” Remus’ voice came over the phone, and Roman’s face broke into a relieved grin. “What’s up?”

“I think there’s a moment Roman would like to share with you,” Damien said.

When the flash on Damien’s phone came on, Roman waved to the camera. “Guess who’s finally getting his hair cut!” he crowed.

“Hell yes, my man!” Remus exclaimed. “I want to see them shave your head!”

Roman laughed as Vince grabbed a razor and began to get rid of all the long hair on the back of Roman’s head. With Remus on the phone he felt so much more relaxed, and more self-assured. He knew he was trans, and so did Remus. Remus never questioned him for a second. This was what Roman needed, and it was nice to be reminded that this was normal, this was healthy, this was good.

Remus was giving running commentary in the form of compliments, and Damien just sat back in his chair with a pleased grin. When the fade was complete, Vince took a pair of scissors to the hair that was left on the top of Roman’s head, combing it so the short strands left were pointed towards the front, rather than to the sides. Roman watched this process in the mirror in awe, finally looking at his reflection and seeing someone resembling himself. When Vince took off the sheet after brushing the last of Roman’s hair off his neck and shoulders, Roman stood slowly, observing his new look in the mirror.

“How do you feel, Roman?” Damien asked.

Roman broke into a wide grin. “Gone are the days of Veronica Sarah Ayer!” he crowed. “You are looking at none other than His Highness Roman Augustus Ayer, prince and soon-to-be-husband of Damien Byron!”

Damien whooped and high-fived Roman, and Roman felt tears coming to his eyes as Remus cheered and clapped over the phone. “You did an amazing job as always, Vince,” Damien said. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Vince said with a bow. “I hope the two of you have a great rest of your day.”

“You too,” Roman said as Damien paid Vince and the two walked out.

The Queen gasped as she saw Roman and exclaimed, “Oh, dear, your haircut is perfect!”

“Thank you!” Roman said, grinning. “It feels amazing to look like myself.”

“Are you ready for an updated wardrobe?” the Queen asked.

Roman nodded, blinking back tears. “So ready to figure out what styles I like in men’s clothing,” he said, voice watery.

Damien kissed Roman’s cheek and Roman squeaked, whacking him lightly.

“Damien Janus Byron, if you do not behave with your fiancé, you will not get to help him pick out clothes, and that’s a promise,” the Queen warned.

Damien turned away and swore under his breath, and Roman blinked in shock. “That is...quite the middle name,” he said mildly.

“It was his father’s choice of name for him. I told him simply that if he didn’t want his son to be bullied for a majority of his childhood, we would give him a more common first name. Damien was what we agreed on. But Janus is a family name,” the Queen explained.

“I see,” Roman said. “Sort of, at least.”

The Queen smiled. “Are we ready to keep shopping?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, smiling. “I think I could even brave a couple reporters if I had to. Still hoping I don’t have to, though.”

“We’ll try and avoid it,” Damien assured him.

They walked to the stores just a couple buildings away, and Damien swept Roman into the most upscale of them all. Damien looked around, waving off the associates who tried to walk up to the three of them. “He’s fine,” Damien said. “Just give him a moment to soak it all in.”

Roman looked around, feeling all the air leave his lungs. There were mannequins with suits in the windows, button-up shirts on the shelves, nice pants, both of the dress variety and ones more appropriate for a relaxed dress code. And not a dress or skirt in sight.

“The women’s equivalent is across the street,” Damien said. “But I figured you’d much rather be in a men’s store, at least to start.”

“Thanks,” Roman said faintly.

Damien nodded with a smile. “Go wherever your heart tells you,” he said. “I won’t judge...too much.”

Roman laughed, but dutifully walked further into the store. There was a pastel green button-up that he picked up, looking around. He grinned when he saw T-shirts, knowing that territory much better. He grabbed a shirt with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album art on the front because rainbows, duh, and then went for a pair of dark skinny jeans, and called, “Damien, I’m gonna try on a look, I want your opinion when I walk out of the changing room!”

“Copy that,” Damien called into the racks. “I’ll meet you on the far right where the changing rooms are!”

Roman sprinted through the aisles, grin splitting his face. He was a fashion disaster sometimes, bue he had a good feeling about this. He tore off his shirt and caught his breath for a moment inside the changing room. He shouldn’t make a habit out of running in his binder, he saw now why Remy was so strict in his instructions.

When he had his breath back, he took off his pants and put on the shirts first. The green was a stark contrast to the gray, so he had a feeling he was on the right track. He pulled on the skinny jeans, up over both of the shirt’s ends and made sure they were tucked properly. Roman did the bottom two buttons of the green shirt and looked in the mirror, giving himself some nervous finger guns. The shoes on the other side of the door were undoubtedly Damien’s. Roman took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and unlocked the changing room door, walking out with his hands in his pockets. “Thoughts? I need something more iconic than that time Remus went out on Halloween dressed as a stripper—complete with rippable tuxedo. This do it?” he asked Damien.

Damien said nothing, looking Roman up and down for a moment, before he said, “Fuck, I’m gay. If we weren’t in public I would jump your bones.”

Roman squeaked. “So you’re a fan, got it,” he said with a laugh. “This is going to be my ‘ultimate boy mode’ look.”

Damien managed a strangled laugh. “Yeah. Mother is grabbing you some dress shirts and pants for special occasions. But as for style...looks like you’ve got at least one look. Now go on and take it off, we’re getting that and anything else you might want.”

“I have good stuff in terms of T-shirts already, aside from a disparaging lack of rainbows. I might buy a flannel and some pants, but let’s be real, I’ll be stealing your shirts most days.”

“At least you’re honest,” Damien huffed as Roman retreated back into the stall.

Roman changed back into his regular clothes and walked out, new outfit in hand. “I’m wearing that combo to Pride first chance I get, I hope you realize,” he informed Damien.

“Fine by me, so long as I get to scare off any pretty boys who try to make a pass at you,” Damien said, just a hint of huskiness still in his voice.

“You’re not as discreet as you like to think you are,” Roman said, glancing down and then up meaningfully at Damien.

“Hey, be careful who you tease,” Damien warned. “I’m most likely going to be the one teaching you how to position when you get a packer, and if you keep this up I’ll make tasteless jokes every time your packer shifts.”

Roman sighed. “Okay, I see your point,” he allowed.

The two of them got a few more pants for Roman, and Roman picked up a yellow and red flannel, and then went to the front of the store, where the Queen was waiting for them. Once everything had been rung up and they were walking out of the store, Roman laughed. “God, this doesn’t feel real,” he breathed. “I’m free. I’m genuinely... free.”

“Glad to hear you feel that way,” Damien said, kissing Roman’s temple.

Roman turned to Damien and smiled. “Am I free to kiss you?”

“Ah...” Damien glanced away, turning red. “I don’t know how to feel about that. It’s not a no...”

“If it’s not a yes, then it’s a no,” Roman said. “It’s okay. Hopefully you’ll be okay with it by the wedding.”

“I do as well, I do not want to disappoint the people waiting for us to kiss,” Damien laughed nervously.

“Even if you aren’t, I know ways to fake it,” Roman said with a shrug. “Besides, we don’t even have to use tongue. That’s not a requirement for a kiss at the altar.”

“I would be slightly concerned if it was,” Damien laughed. “I do not need all my relatives to watch me kiss using tongue.”

Roman snickered. “Remus would make disgusting gag noises every time I kissed a boyfriend when I was younger. It was never appreciated at the time, but looking back on it, it’s a little endearing. I mean, he’s still a little shit, but...”

Damien laughed genuinely and a few people turned their way, before one brought a camera out of her bag. “Oh, no, the paparazzi are after us!” Roman hissed.

“To the car?” Damien offered.

“To the car!” Roman agreed, and the three of them rushed to the car and order Virgil to drive, narrowly dodging the woman as she tried to cross the street and get a good picture of them.

“Are we going to continue to risk the commonwealth tearing us apart or are we heading back to the castle?” Virgil asked.

“Back home, please,” the Queen said. “I need to make some calls before the wedding rehearsal tomorrow, see if we can change plans that involve Roman’s parents, and ensure that Remus leaving the country won’t endanger his security to the throne.”

“What, no dance practice?” Damien questioned.

“Oh, you two will get plenty of dance practice in,” the Queen assured. “I just won’t be there to oversee it. I trust Logan to keep you two from killing each other.”

“Hey!” Damien squawked indignantly, while Roman just tittered next to him.

[parasiteeve-archive]

I’m new to scene (I was “goth”) any tips to help me out lol

Well, firstly with any music-based subculture you gotta listen to the music. You can listen to whatever genres you want but at least some of it has to include music that scene kids listen to. Scene kids usually listen to emo, post-hardcore, metalcore, crunkcore, deathcore, electronic, and pop-punk. There are also some artists considered scene on the Wikipedia page but I’d take all of these pages with a grain of salt like most pages on Wikipedia because I wouldn’t consider bands like Twenty One Pilots scene lmfao.

Some scene kids follow the PLUR lifestyle where they listen to rave music, hence the kandi a lot of scene kids wear. Kandi is mainly made out pony beads among other kinds of beads and you can find them almost anywhere.

As long as you listen to the music and have the ‘scene attitude’ then you can be considered scene, but besides that, scene is often known for the hairstyles, so maybe consider getting a scene haircut. At its basics, scene haircuts are ironed straight, have choppy, feathered layers, and a deep parting with a fringe that goes across the forehead. From personal experience, hairdressers and barbers fuckin’ suck at cutting emo/scene hair (at least my hair) so I’ve started doing it myself lol. Plus, this helps if you’re low on budget. I watched Johnnie Guilbert and Fernie Mac’s videos on how to cut scene hair but these videos might not be what you’re looking for, so luckily there are tons of tutorials out there. You’ll also need thinning shears, hairdressing scissors, and a comb which may be pricey at first but you’ll only have to buy those once and you won’t have to keep paying £20 or whatever every time you want to get your hair cut. A lot of scene kids use extensions too so you could try that.

Scene hair is also known to be brightly coloured and patterned but not everyone has the money for that so you can just have black or dark brown hair which would be fine, even other natural hair colours should be good as long as you have the hairstyle. If you do have the money for it though I’d recommend it. You could try getting coontails (what I’ve got rn) or leopard print hair, skull and crossbones print hair, or just whatever patterns you want! Some people just go with different coloured streaks.

Lastly, scene is also known for it’s fashion. I shop at Absinthe-6, Applejack, Damaged Society, and Osiris because I live in Scotland but there are some online alternative clothing stores here, here, and here. Hot Topic is very popular but they’ve become mainstream in the last few years and aren’t that alternative anymore. I wish I could help more with fashion but I barely shop at the places I’ve listed because I don’t have a lot of money. As long as you’re aware of how scene kids dress you can just keep an eye out for things that would fit the bill wherever you go shopping. That Wikipedia page’s section on scene fashion can give you some more examples on what to wear.

I might update this with more things/links as I see them but here are some posts about being scene on a budget, another tips post, short scene boy hairstyles, even more tips, even MORE tips, lost Myspace music, that old Windows XP Space Cadet game (because why not?), and maybe even think about getting the Myspace Tumblr theme?

[marylorson-blog]

“Rolling Thunder”  excerpted from Signals: a performance memoir 

                                      Featured May 2020 on          Unfictional https://www.kcrw.com/culture/shows/unfictional

I wasn't a bastard but I still felt kind of illegitimate. Dad and Mom had eloped, three months after meeting. My sisters from Mom’s first marriage loved him like mad, but then one day Dad vanished, before I could form a single memory of him. 

I've always wondered why that day was the finale. How do you walk away from a beaming little two-year-old face, one that looks like you?   I was there, but unaware. I want the scene.   

My sisters say: Dad was great.  

Mom says: All you need to know is he walked away. 

Dad said: Mom kicked him out that day, that he crammed his suits and stereo into the Mustang  and rushed to the city for a meeting, paying a kid twenty bucks to guard the car, which was empty anyway when he came back out. 

Later, once I knew him, I asked: “Was there another woman?”  

His answer: “There must have been.”   

THEY BLAMED IT ALL ON ALCOHOL. 

Mom said: infidelity wasn't the only problem; unofficial-seeming “bill collectors” were showing up at the house.  

My sisters said: Dad made life fun, played the piano, adored Mom. But skillets and invectives would fly in the night...and then Dad went missing, with hundreds of thousands of some investor’s dollars. 

By the time my sisters were 8, 10 and 11, they had lost two fathers.    

Mom hadn’t worked since modeling before her first marriage. She borrowed tuition for a full-time secretarial course and sent me to stay with her brother, another charming alcoholic with money problems and a fed-up wife. Mom and the girls stayed behind, in the lovely house on Manor Lane. 

I rejoined them fifteen months and few blocks but a world away, in a garden apartment behind the Country Club. Mom kept the crystal chandelier and her gown from the Kennedy Inaugural, and a suite of heavy furniture that wasn’t made for small rooms. 

Sometime later, Dad called Mom for a friendly chat. He was glad to hear she was in love and admitted that he and his girlfriend had a baby. He asked her to sign some papers for a Tijuana divorce. Sure, Mom said, and I’ll take the trip too. She came back with castanets and a tan. I remember understanding that my parents would never get back together.

I had Dad's nose and hair and musicality, but couldn’t remember a thing about him. Mom said I was lucky I didn't know what I was missing. The older girls talked about their happy chapter with my dad all the time, but I’d wait alone out front for the Mustang that didn't come.  

One day, though, he showed, and this was my own first memory of Dad: Christmastime, Chinatown, and three wrapped presents: a Dancerina doll, a Polaroid Swinger, and a camel hair coat from Saks. The surviving Polaroids show a serious dad and a manically happy me.

Dad promised that now he was going to bring all his kids together regularly. He'd repeat this song on our scattershot dates over the years, but that visit WAS the beginning, of our intermittent, fond, indulgent, dishonest bond.  After that, I lived in obsessive anticipation of the next visit, never knowing when it would be. 

(Band in)

A Dancerina doll, a Polaroid Swinger, and a camel hair coat from Saks. Dad gave me these, and went back to wherever he went.

During Kindergarten: I roomed with Mom, but she was out most nights. The big girls had the other bedroom. I wasn’t allowed in, but from the other side of the door I’d smell and listen attentively. Incense, patchouli, cigarettes, maybe pot? Talking, laughing, singing Joni Mitchell, CSNY...yelling, hitting, screaming, cursing. I swear I could hear the brushing of their long tresses, the swinging of their unhindered double-D breasts...meanwhile people kept mistaking me for a boy.

“You have your father’s thin hair,” Mom complained, so she took me to the barber on the corner, who gave me a buzz cut... and rationalized it this way: “It don't matta if she looks bad now; it mattas what she looks like when she's 18.” Mom thought this was a riot. There was none of this “you're beautiful because you're you” bullshit with Mom. You either looked good, or you didn't. 

THERE IN THE CATHODE LIGHT, NOBODY BEAMED UP BRIGHT                      ENOUGH FOR HER TO LIKE  NOONE TO WALK BESIDE 

YEAH, YOU HARDLY KNEW US                                       

 THAT WAS JUST OUR LIFE/THAT WAS JUST OUR LIFE

Then, In first grade we moved to Carol Avenue, and I almost had another sister!

 Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne! Jeanne!....Jeanne!

We had a great time together.

MOM MET HER FATHER AT THE GIANT STEP

A PIANO BAR IN NEW ROCHELLE                                   

SHE'D GOT MY DEADBEAT DAD THE GIG, 

AND HE SHOWED  UP                                                           

WENT DOWN SO SHE COULD GRAB THE TIPS, 

AND LET ADMIRERS BUY HER DRINKS                                  

LED BY THE VERY HANDSOME ED DESONNE

Mom was passionate and needed a rescue; Ed DeSonne was a prosperous investment banker. Both were raising broods of four alone. Ed wasn’t divorced yet, but soon he and Mom got engaged, and we were going to be like the Brady Bunch, with martinis. In the meantime, he was paying the rent on our roomy townhouse on Carol Avenue...

YEAH, IT'S NEVER SIMPLE

BUT WE'LL GIVE IT A TRY; MAYBE BE ALRIGHT

Jeanne too was the youngest of four. She was fearless and funny, and once the parents were married, she would be my roommate. But until then, I had to spend a few more nights with one or another of my unwilling sisters.  One such Saturday, Knockout Diane was supposed to watch me while Shy Karen sister went to a party, but Diane sneaked out. Karen wailed, but Mom had plans with Ed, who arrived in a cloud of aftershave and tapped his shiny toe in the foyer. Mom appeared in glamorous good cheer and ordered me to kiss him. I didn't wanna. 

“Go ahead: give him a little kiss,” Mom said, and Ed reached out gamely, but I wound back and fired a fierce little first-grade kick right into his suited shin. 

Today we'd say I was “acting out.” But back then, everybody just yelled. Then the grownups... went out. And the television...went on.  And then: Ed DeSonne disappeared, changing the channel on a whole other level.

 ED, WE HARDLY KNEW YE…

In first grade you learn to add 2 plus 2. I overheard the word “funeral” and didn’t see Jeanne’s dad for a week; these factors equalled --to me-- that he was dead. When Mom announced it, the big girls wailed like the world was ending. But I just said: “I know.”

I wasn't glad Ed was dead, but I wasn't sad, either. I didn't know how much we lost.         

Mom told everyone the aneurysm happened while Ed was driving; years later she told me the rest of the story.  She also told me that, in her grief, she'd called MY DAD, as a friend, and that he'd sneaked away to be there with her at Ed's funeral.

In the instant it takes for a blood vessel to pop, Mom became bereft, unemployed, and homeless. And our family dispersed like seeds in the wind. 

Diane went to live with her father in the city. The rest of us were taken in by another divorcee with a sun-porch we shared for the nervous, chilly months it took Mom to save up a security deposit.  Karen cried endlessly,  Mom cooing in her ear and breaking Valiums in half.  Fightin’ Joni moved in with her best friend. I got caught standing on our hosts’ kitchen counter in my loafers, stealing cookies from their Charles Chips tin.

But worst of all, Jeanne was sent into foster care.   

I only saw her once again after that, but we’re Facebook friends now. 

While we were staying with the other family, Dad got tickets for the TV show "Wonderama", for me and our host's daughter, and she won the big prize! Our moms picked us up, tipsy on high heels, loading the prizes in the back of a Checker, ignoring candy-starved Moonies in white shirts and dark blazers who tried to sell us carnations.  

(BEAT, then energy back down)

Mom found an apartment. It was in Tuckahoe, so we switched schools. I was in 2nd grade; Joni, 7th; Karen, 9th. I got sent to the principal's office for wearing pants; he showed me a paddle, said next time he'd use it. But maybe it wasn't just the trousers. 

Men landed on the moon. “Evil Ways” was in heavy rotation. And “Spinning Wheel.” Our apartment sat at a dead end by a highway. At night the passing cars projected an abstract slide show on our bedroom wall. In the living room, Mom would light a candle and drink wine. The apartment often smelled of the burned bottom of a saucepan.

That Christmas Eve, Mom fell asleep and the candles burned all the way down, through the tablecloth, and into the nice oak table. I woke up when the fire department arrived. 

YEAH, WE HARDLY KNEW YOU//IT WAS JUST OUR LIFE/THAT WAS JUST OUR LIFE

Karen was 15 and wanted privacy; I was seven and wanted company. One day these opposing desires clashed at a bedroom door, both sides pushing until the big kid won, my middle finger slammed in the door jamb.

The top was hacked completely off. Mom raced me to New Rochelle Hospital, where the surgeon told her to retrieve the tip of my finger or I'd have a stump for the rest of my life. Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Karen tried to flush my finger, along with her shame and horror, down the toilet.

Thanks to low-rent plumbing, my fingertip didn't disappear, and the toilet water even kept it alive. Mom carried it in a baggie back to the surgeon, who successfully reattached it. (Now, there’s a parent's errand.) They kept me in the hospital for a week, because I was hyperactive and the doctor feared I'd bang the stitches open.

It's possible I was on painkillers, because when Dad appeared he was like a dream, swinging down the hall with his great suit and smiling blue eyes.  He'd stopped at the gift shop, and gotten me a dozen long stemmed American Beauty roses and a music box. When you opened it, a ballerina pirouetted to this song: 

OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING/ OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY/I'VE GOT A BEAUTIFUL FEELING/EVERYTHING'S GOING MY WAY 

The roses died, of course. I kept that box, though, long after the ballerina broke off and the inside felt was smutty with lipgloss and melted JollyRanchers. Didn’t see Dad again for another 4 years..

[iamphella]

The Difference A Year Makes

I almost titled this “the difference a tear makes” but that would’ve been corny and forced. Sometimes you just need to relax. But that other title would’ve been appropriate because there really are different types of tears and different levels of crying. I’ll explain.

About a year ago (spring 2018), I was in what I can now describe as the late stages of a dark period that seemed to have gone on forever. It began in the Fall of 2017, possibly before then, and got very ugly in the winter of 2017. I spent my New Year’s Eve in my bedroom by myself with such incredible brain fog and just pain and doubt and worry and wondering if it would ever end. It wasn’t pretty or fun and even putting myself in that place now as I write this makes me wanna stop writing, but let’s continue.

As I’m working my way through the haze in Spring of last year and trying to step back into the light, one of the things that helped me and gave me a shot of hope was this lengthy interview Charlamagne tha God did with Kanye West. I can’t remember everything in the interview, but there was a part where Kanye went into his mental and physical breakdown from 2016, an event that kind of threw me off for a second when it first occured. I was on some hilly sidewalk close to downtown LA when my mom called me and said “you heard Kanye West was rushed to the hospital?” I finished up what I was doing then got on my phone to get the details and while I was a bit worried, my faith which was still in tact at the time, didn’t let me worry much. I knew he’d be good because his story still had much more to come.

Back to last year and the interview. The interview came at a time when I was a crying machine (see attached photos). After a near decade-long drought of never feeling much of anything, I was feeling everything all at once and it just wouldn’t stop. For at least a month between April and May I cried at least once everyday. I felt alone and I was in pain and just wanted to know when and how it would be over. In his interview, Ye talked about how that episode led to him losing his confidence. He talked about how what led up to it was basically taking on too much. Being the person who has to be there for everyone, not sleeping or eating right, stressing, not fully healing from emotional traumas, the list goes on. 

As Kanye told it to Charlamagne, you can see someone who once thought himself to be invincible who came face to face with his own mortality and how it can all really be over just like that. That was similar to what happened to me and I could completely relate. I was just going about my life, kind of feeling exhausted mentally and physically but still trying to be there for everyone and then the next thing you know, ambulance, hospital, mental and physical shutdown, wondering how you got there. Then months and months of isolation wondering how to get back to your old form or create a new one. Questioning everything about life as you knew it.

I fought tooth and nail for months to get the old me back. I wanted to erase the pain of everything that happened. Not just from the episode but dating as far back as my adolescent years. There was a lot of stuff I never really stopped to unpack. I had been carrying it with me for so long and with such a rigorous daily schedule, I never noticed that that’s what was weighing me down emotionally. I thought it was just the norm for me to feel so detached. Only while unpacking, did I see where a lot of my thoughts and feelings (or lack thereof) stemmed from. And I was doing all this unpacking, mental and physical rehabilitation, without the aid of any kind of therapist or doctor or any medication. That was another part of the interview that struck a chord. Kanye talked about how he wasn’t seeing a therapist and didn’t like taking medication because of how they made him feel (note: please see a therapist or doctor and take medication if you believe you need it. There’s absolutely no shame in it and it’s actually the wise thing to do if you need it.)

I was relying on some of my trusted methods to get me into feeling like an actual human again. God first. I prayed and prayed and prayed some more. Music. Any music that was positive or spiritual or soulful or had anything to do with pain and loss and love and life, I listened to on repeat. I couldn’t socialize or work, so the music was basically my only thing to do. That and watching sports. I meditated. I created a routine and stuck to it. Began using my social media apps a little more actively and cleaned up any kind of content that would trigger me or make me feel lesser because of what I was dealing with (there was a lot to clean up). I became comfortable with uncomfortable conversations and set boundaries for people around me. For the first time ever I also learned how to say no without feeling guilty.

Realizing that you mean a lot to a lot of people will reshape how you go about life. A lot of things suffered because of me not being myself. I came to the realization that it’s actually a selfless act to protect my well being so that I can be of service to the world like I was meant to be. We are all needed. Being in a prolonged “dark space” or being weakened mentally or physically causes a ripple effect on many more lives than we can imagine. It’s like a lightbulb that has a broken switch. You’re there but you’re not lighting the way for others to see clearer. You see them stumbling and kicking things and you know that you can easily help, but the switch needs to be fixed and needs to be protected from being broken again. 

I don’t wanna make this any longer than it needs to be and I don’t like talking about myself for this long so I’ll start to bring it home. Almost all the books I read and the videos I watched during my healing always emphasized SERVICE. I remember Will Smith preaching the importance of service so I’ve always believed in it and I’ve basically spent my life serving. But I didn’t realize that the absence of serving was partly what caused my breakdown and what was keeping me there.

I needed to feel like I was of use to the world again. Needed to start doing things to positively affect others. Whether in my family, in my community, online, wherever there was a need. The more I did that, the stronger I became and the more my confidence began to restore. Parts of the old me that needed to come back were coming back, the parts that needed to be shed were shed and were making room for new habits and new ways of thinking and being.

This past Easter weekend was extremely powerful. night I had a haircut appointment set up with my friend and barber for about a decade when I’m home on the east coast. As I was rushing to get to his shop, I accidentally left my phone at home. Me 6 months ago wouldn’t even want to go to that barbershop. It’s at the mall, so many familiar faces who knew me before I got broken down by life. Why go there when I can go to any generic barber and get a decent cut? Me a year ago wouldn’t even go to the mailbox without my phone. What if my body shuts down on me again and I have an emergency? What if this? What if that? But Saturday night there was none of that. I was good. I was confident. I was....me. Went and kicked it with my guy, got a nice cut, went in the mall and then came home and watched some incredible basketball games. Hardly a worry in the world.

The next morning--Easter Sunday--I woke up early and starving. I shared Happy Easter greetings with my family and friends then headed to a brunch spot to get breakfast. Everything was so peaceful and serene. The girl at the bar taking my order didn’t seem to be in the best mood, but I didn’t let it change my vibration. I know she’s up early on a Holiday making drinks for people and taking food orders to make some money. Not being all smiles is definitely understandable. I spoke politely to her and tipped as best as I could then I left and returned thirty minutes later to grab the food.

Headed home and set up my battle station to watch Kanye West’s Sunday Service at Coachella. For the past year since the Charlamagne interview, I’ve watched Kanye slowly gain his confidence and his swagger back. From ranting at TMZ and in the Oval Office to selling sneakers at a Lemonade stand with his children for mental health awareness, to the weekly Sunday Services where he and friends and family gather to sing praises and dance. I’ve seen him skateboarding, go to Tokyo to hang out with his old friend Dave Chappelle, seen him stumble through his raps in the few live performances he has done (SNL and Camp Flog Gnaw). I’ve seen him basically just be human. I’ve seen him healing while simultaneously I was going through my own healing. I’ve seen try to be of service to people because that’s what we need to do to feel fulfilled.

The show starts. It’s everything you expect from a Kanye West show when all the chips are on the table. The fans were read; the curious folks were too. The doubters and the critics already began to build narratives and telling people what to think about an event yet to take place. But none of that mattered on this Sunday. When you’re called to serve, you’re called to served and that is your only mission. Everything else can be addressed later or never addressed at all. 

The music was big and bright. The clothes were dull, I would assume by design. Almost like everyone there was covered up but naked at the same time. There was nothing to distract from the mission: to give praise for healing, for overcoming, for the strength and wisdom to navigate through trials and tribulations, both past and the ones to come. It was a bunch of creative people from all walks of life going to tell it on the mountain. There was no hierarchy. Everyone was on a level from the security guards to the Coachella attendees to Kim Kardashian to Kanye himself. The cameras never focused on any one person for longer than two minutes. This wasn’t to be watched. It was to be experienced. It wasn’t to be judged. It was to be partaken in. 

And partake I did. As the huge blueberry pancakes and spinach omelette I just downed were settling in, my spirit was being lifted by the moment. Every sound was reminding me of how far I had come. Every person’s smiles and dance steps was contagious and made me smile and dance. And then came the one brief moment where the music stopped. Chance the Rapper had just flawlessly delivered his verse from Kanye West’s “Ultralight Beam” which was a moment in itself. Chano from 79th standing on a platform being proudly looked at by his Chicago idol. This is the stuff hip-hop dreams are made of. Chance steps down and DMX steps up. Yes, young Chance the Rapper who just recently came into fame in the last half a decade is being followed by legendary Earl Simmons at Coachella in 2019 and it doesn’t seem weird at all because we know why X is there. A video went viral three weeks prior of DMX delivering one of his signature prayers at Kanye’s Sunday Service gathering. 

Now it was time for X to deliver on the big stage. Probably the first time in life where I saw DMX look a little bit nervous. He once was a headliner at Woodstock in front of a crowd of 200,000+ people so this wasn’t exactly new territory. But that was in 1999--two decades ago. Before he had to prematurely let go of the chokehold he once held on the rap game. That was before the memes of him breaking down crying on reality shows about his childhood, marital struggles and drug addiction. That didn’t matter on Sunday. DMX was there to perform a service and a sermon and he quickly shook off the nerves and did exactly that. My mom even called me later and said “that DMX needs to be given a church; he’s gifted.” 

As X stepped down from the highest platform on the mountain and the choir and band were beginning to rev back up, the camera pans to Kanye West with his face buried in his hands crying unconsolably. I was already having an emotional and spiritual weekend and the Chance the Rapper portion was already making me feel all kinds of proud, just to be a child of hip-hop and just be alive. But then within seconds of seeing Kanye cry, and DMX and Kid Cudi-- two of the biggest survivors the music industry has ever seen--place hands on him to comfort him, the tears began to form in my eyes. Yes, it’s as cheesy as it sounds and I was really laughing at myself but I couldn’t stop it. Other choir members, men and women, were crying also. Everybody for their own personal reason that doesn’t need explanation. 

My tears from a year ago were from pain and from confusion. My tears on Easter Sunday (also known as the day of Resurrection) were from triumph and clarity, and optimism and gratefulness. The people on that mountain had done it. I had done it. God, especially, has done it and will continue to do it. And that shift in perspective, and then in reality, is the difference that a year can make. 

Peace and Love

[comradebird]

The first time I got a haircut in college I went to Sorts Clips and waited an hour. I had not been to a barber on my own for a few years. I spent the entirety of the hour scrolling Twitter and panicking about what haircut I would ask for, and how. I vaguely knew the sizes of guards, but did not know the names for different styles or even parts of the head. What’s a nape? Where does the crown begin? Surely sides isn’t the right word.

So after an hour of numbing my mind and overthinking, I sat in the chair and asked for a “number five all around.” This was a mistake. The stylist didn’t bat an eye, but I think she really should have. Did she see me? I had very thick, moderately long curly hair and a scraggly beard. This request is obviously a mistake. But she said nothing and gave me exactly what I requested.

My hair was so short I wore a hat for three days, despite the fact that my head is very big and has been since I was a baby. As in: hats look like if you tried to fit a sock over a cantaloupe. Maybe you can do it, but should you? Not only was it short, it would fall down over my forehead in a slanting line. The right side of my hairline curls up, and falls slowly to the left, so short hairstyles where the hair can’t really curl always slant.

My mother cut my hair for most of my life. Her sister was at one point a beautician and taught my mom the basics. Mom even has a set of wired clippers, scissors, and thinning shears that she uses to this day, complete with a haircut cape.

When it was time for a haircut, I would go find the old, heavy wooden barstool and carry it to wherever the best light was in the house we were living in at the time. It was always, always cold, and I was usually wearing thin athletic shorts, so it was unpleasant from the start. Then, depending on the style we were going for, mom would either start with the clippers or spritz my hair with a water bottle. My shoulders were often bare or nearly so at this point, perhaps only covered by the apron, and the chill of the mist was the worst part every time.

Mom would spend a very long time making sure everything was perfect. At the time I thought she was being obsessive. I didn’t care whether everything was perfectly straight, or if the hair at the back of my head started at just the right height. Or at least, I told myself I didn’t care. But I know that if my mom had given my a bad haircut, and anyone at school mentioned it, not only would I be devastated, I would have absolutely blamed her.

Now I cut my own hair. The first time I attempted that was near the beginning of the pandemic. My parents had given me a small hair cutting kit, which was primarily a set of wireless clippers with a vacuum, along with many guards, scissors, oil, and a tiny brush. I watched a video and read the instructions that came with the kit. I didn’t have a hand mirror, so I used my iPad and the medicine cabinet mirror to see the back of my head. It happened to turn out fine, but I spent fifteen minutes trying to fix on small spot of my hair that mounded up in the back.

Now I cut my own hair almost exclusively. We don’t make all that much money, and saving the twenty or thirty bucks seems worth the time. But I also really want to support my community. On our downtown square there are two flower shops, two restaurants, a jeweler, some agencies, and a single barber shop. If I was to get a haircut anywhere I would get it from there even though I’ve never been in and never known anyone who has. But it’s a five minute walk from work, and I think that’s important.

But when I go in a don’t know what to ask for. I could describe my exact process: trim up the back with a seven, then clip back the top of my and taper the sides, and so on. But I don’t want to give directions, and I have a constant fear that a barber will tell me they don’t cut hair like mine. And my hair is not all that unusual.

772

[yourghastlycloseness]

i cant spend all day stressing worrying crying wondering about where this will go (answer: likely nowhere) but also i like how he has been handling this friendship. when it comes to things like this, neither of us are so simple to be deciphered by a cosmo girl article on attraction and flirting. i was ruining myself over him -- it's just the way i am; for the longest time, i've stayed away from the people i cld potentially fall in love with and who cld potentially love me back because i've always known that i wld get deeply attached and obsessive -- the woes of a romantic lmao -- but i can feel him distancing himself from me (he seems to have set an allowance for himself to text me only once every 2-3 days) and yet, at the same time, promising me his friendship, which is all i need right now; we can be two adults who are somewhat attracted to each other but who don't act on it, right? at least, not now. because he's attached. and if that attraction gradually fizzles out because we don't see each other anymore, then so be it, this wasn't for us. or maybe we'll be lifelong friends. there's a lot i can learn from him. i know that on my end, i'd probably still like him all the way, so the ball is pretty much in his court. but that's not to say that if we are end game, i'd continue liking him the way i do now; i don't know what kind of a person i'd be when i actually have to commit to loving someone. right now, it's all fun and games and crying myself to sleep indulgently; i'm taking snapshots and trying out lines i never thought i would get to say. assuming the attraction is mutual and we end up in a situation where we're both able to make something more out of it, i suspect that the honeymoon phase will blow over quickly, i will go back to seeing him as just another guy, then i'll crash land and set us both ablaze. i think. i wouldn't know for sure because i have nothing to work with.

another fond memory: i don't think i jotted this down earlier. the last time i saw him, he had walked into class with a haircut from what was probably a neighbourhood barber or one of those chain barber shops scattered across the island. before that, his hair had been voluminous and beautifully and neatly swept back, such that i could see the pure symmetry of his pale forehead. idk why, but upon meeting him, i immediately thought he was a player lol. when i saw that fresh haircut though, so style-less and neat, like it couldn't have cost more than 20 bucks -- a schoolboy's spartan haircut -- i realized there and then, that he wasn't someone who put in a tremendous amount of effort into his physical appearance. he just happens to look clean-cut and nice most of the time, all of it, the boyish handsomeness, the seeming goodness of character, the soft body language — god-given. he seemed to inhabit a different sphere of the universe from me. was i intrigued for this reason? i rarely find myself drawn to people who are conventionally attractive because i just can't fathom how our perspectives could ever be aligned when we've lived in discrete worlds. but it’s friction, opposites attract, isn’t it?

i may not hear back from him again. if so, i may not reach out again either. there’s only so much silence and uncertainty i can take

if this is goodbye, then let it be so. thank you for the short-lived friendship/fantasies. it was painful, but i grew up so much in the past few weeks. it might be the end for us in that we can’t pursue anything further from this, but i still intend to keep you as a friend, not in a way that would invite hope for something more, but just as somebody i'm glad to have met and wish the best for in life, if you'd be so kind. pls be well, wherever you are and whoever you’re with

LOL all that and

ok tbh im not ready to give up on you yet until someone else better comes along the way. i definitely don’t want to say goodbye completely. but i’ll go slow and steady. if it’s a hard no by then (he hasn’t rejected me at this point — more of kept the doors closed but not locked, kept the bridges barricaded but not burnt) then i’ll go away. as ldr once sang: “hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have — but i have it” — and im ok with letting it ruin me

[truththebarberartist]

That’s right I said it🤷🏻‍♂️ @truththebarberartist

•

For as long as I can remember in my 35 years of experience I’ve always heard Barbers complaining about shops being too slow. As a teacher I get asked about this a lot. The belief is you need to be in a Barbershop with a lot of foot traffic to make money. In most cases thats why Barbers end up jumping from shop to shop looking for haircut handouts and free cigarettes. When I was starting out I too believed this until I worked in a shop where every Barber was a straight killer. They weren’t team players at all, they didn’t believe in sharing clients and they didn’t give a damn if you haven’t cut anyone the whole day. You were on your own and if you didn’t like it you could leave and again nobody cared if you did. I learned that just because a shop looks busy doesn’t mean you’re going to be busy. I thought to myself if they built themselves up I could do it too. I got my business cards and searched for clients. I spoke to every business owner in that area, every person walking by the shop. Wherever I went I told people I was a Barber. Not long after I developed my clientele. Those guys taught me you can make it happen anywhere without having to depend on anyone. There’s different types of Barbers. You have the ones that are all business and know what to do. Then you have the Barbers that just come in and do nothing. I did the nothing part for long stretches because I thought it was the right way but it wasn’t. Many Barbers will say I’m wrong and I get it but If you RENT your chair thats a 💯 all you. Renting a chair is a great way to get a taste of owning your own business. If you can’t build with one little chair how can you build with a whole business? Commission is where Barbers mostly put blame on owners when the shop is dead because they don’t do enough advertising. Yeah shop owners get their cut but commission also means the more people you cut the more profit you make so why wouldn’t you want to get out there and find more clients? Think about that while you sip on your decaf.🤔 #truththebarberartist

[barberjourney-blog]

Let’s start from the beginning...

     Well here goes. My first attempt at blogging. That is, unless you count the occasional snarky comment on Facebook or that week in college I tried to do Xanga. Why a blog you might ask? Well, I’ve always considered myself a better communicator through the written word. I come from a family of writers. My sister is an editor for a publishing company. My mom’s list of published works include short stories, magazine articles, and children’s Sunday School curriculum. Even my dad has been known to pen a witty sonnet (usually on the topic of what he cooked for dinner or an embellished fishing trip story). So I guess writing is a family tradition. And although I haven’t practiced the skill in quite a while, it’s always been something I’ve rather enjoyed. I think it’s the organization that I like. Sometimes when I speak, my words get ahead of my thoughts, but not so with writing. Writing is more controlled. I’m able to key a thought, then read it and process it. If I don’t like what I’ve said, that backspace click is just a few finger strokes up. 

      I’m one paragraph in and already rambling. Forgive me. Let’s get to the point of this thing.

     If you’ve followed my Instagram over the last couple of years, you may have noticed a trend in my posts. I’ve visited a lot of barbershops over the last 2 years. A LOT. I‘ve lost count of the exact number a while back, but I’d estimate I’ve seen 20+ shops over the last 12 months. I’ve visited shops in New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Nashville, Birmingham, Huntsville, Tuscaloosa, and Gulf Shores just to name a few. Now, I’m not talking about the salon where your mom goes. Or Sports Clips. I’m talking about the good old fashioned men’s barbershop. The kind of shop maybe you’ve only seen in movies. Men sitting around the shop discussing sports, politics, family, and life. Maybe some good tunes on the radio and the aroma of a hot cup of joe wafting through the air. And a skilled, seasoned barber honing his craft at the chair. His hands are surgical and his gift with the clippers, comb, and shears are a unique combination of skill and art.

     These shops fascinate me! I love the freedom men feel at these places. The freedom to unwind, be themselves, and speak their minds. I I love the way a good hair cut makes me feel. Confident and put together. I love the nostalgia I feel while I’m there. Reminiscent of a different time when the world was smaller, things moved slower, and people cared about each other. I guess you could say I love everything about them.

     A few shops I’ve visited, researched, and loved over the last 2 years...

Greasy Hands Barbershop - Florence, AL 

The Commodore Tonsorial Parlor - Atlanta, GA 

Scout’s Barbershop - Nashville, TN 

Shed Barber & Supply - Austin, TX 

     Let’s hit pause here and rewind the tape a little (for those of you 18 and under reading this, ask your parents what rewind the tape means).  In 2008, Shannon and I moved from Tuscaloosa to Birmingham and almost immediately began attending The Church at Brookhills. We knew after the first week the Lord was moving in this church and He was going to move within us as well if we got onboard. We joined the church, got plugged into a small group (more on that later), and began “doing life” with the faith family there. The pastor was a skinny, jeans wearing, shirt untucked, blonde guy who looked more like a fraternity brother we’d seen in Tuscaloosa than a pastor of a “mega church”. His name was David Platt and he would change my life forever.

     I hope at some point on this blog to dive deeper into my own faith story, but for the purposes of this post, I’ll be succinct. Christ became my Savior at the age of 16, but there was very little spiritual growth until my early 20’s. That is, until we joined The Church at Brookhills. The Lord used this church, my small group, and David Platt to completely transform what I knew, or thought I knew, about surrendering my life to Christ.

     Let me preach a second here.

     Every day, I am made more and more aware of the “cultural Christianity” that surrounds me. Especially here in the deep south, asking someone if they’re a Christian is like asking them if they drink sweet tea. Well, yes of course. So many of our churches have preached the easiness of salvation and that all you have to do is “say this prayer, ask Jesus into your heart, and believe.” And that’s true. Sort of. The Bible is very clear that “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:13). However, where I think many have dropped the ball is on the aftermath. I’ve “accepted” Christ. Now what? Pastor David now famously quoted this in one of his sermons during our time at Brookhills:

      “Accept Him? Do we really think Jesus needs our acceptance? Don’t we need Him? Jesus is no longer one to be accepted or invited in but one who is infinitely worthy of our immediate and total surrender.”

     Surrender? What does that mean? David would say “giving the Lord a blank check with your life.” My new beloved pastor, Jamey Pruett, calls it “putting your yes on the table.” I like both analogies, but what do they really mean? This is where I feel many of us have missed the mark. This point, this crucial element for salvation is not being explained and driven home through discipleship in many churches. If Christ is your Savior, the Bible says you are a new creation. The old is gone and the new has come (1 Corinthians 5:17). And this “new creation” now has a new responsibility. Jesus cannot only be a “personal Lord and Savior”, but rather He is a Savior to whom we must completely submit and surrender control of our lives. “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). Or as we sing from the old Baptist Hymnal, “Wherever He leads, I’ll go.” And He asks us to do something very specific with that surrendering: make His name known among the nations. The Great Commission. Spread the Gospel. He’s not just your personal savior. He’s a savior worth living for. And if necessary, dying for.

     At this point you may be asking yourself “what in the name of Paul Mitchell does this all have to do with barbershops?” If you’ve read this far, stay with me. I promise I’m getting there.

     In 2010, Pastor David began preaching through a sermon series at Brookhills entitled “Radical”. He would also publish a New York Times best seller similarly themed and titled “Radical: Taking Back Your Faith From the American Dream.” This series and book ruined me. For the better. Let me just give you a few quotes from the book and I think you’ll get the gist:

     “Radical obedience to Christ is not easy. It’s not comfort, not health, not wealth, and not prosperity in this world. Radical obedience to Christ risks losing all these things. But in the end, such risk finds its reward in Christ. And he is more than enough for us.”

     “We are settling for a Christianity that revolves around catering to ourselves when the central message of Christianity is actually about abandoning ourselves.”

     “But then I realized there is never going to be a day when I stand before God and He looks at me and says, ‘I wish you would have kept more for yourself.’ I’m confident that God will take care of me.”

     I read this book back to back with another book from a teacher and author who has also had an enormous impact on my life: John Piper. His book was called “Don’t Waste Your Life”. Let me also give you a quote from this book that has both challenged me and haunted me all at the same time:

     “Three weeks ago, we got word at our church that Ruby Eliason and Laura Edwards had both been killed in Cameroon. Ruby was over eighty. Single all her life, she poured it out for one great thing: to make Jesus Christ known among the unreached, the poor, and the sick. Laura was a widow, a medical doctor, pushing eighty years old, and serving at Ruby’s side in Cameroon.

The brakes give way, over the cliff they go, and they’re gone — killed instantly.

And I asked my people: was that a tragedy? Two lives, driven by one great vision, spent in unheralded service to the perishing poor for the glory of Jesus Christ — two decades after almost all their American counterparts have retired to throw their lives away on trifles in Florida or New Mexico. No. That is not a tragedy. That is a glory.

I tell you what a tragedy is. I’ll read to you from Reader’s Digest what a tragedy is. “Bob and Penny . . . took early retirement from their jobs in the Northeast five years ago when he was 59 and she was 51. Now they live in Punta Gorda, Florida, where they cruise on their thirty foot trawler, playing softball and collecting shells.”

That’s a tragedy. And people today are spending billions of dollars to persuade you to embrace that tragic dream. And I get forty minutes to plead with you: don’t buy it. With all my heart I plead with you: don’t buy that dream. The American Dream: a nice house, a nice car, a nice job, a nice family, a nice retirement, collecting shells as the last chapter before you stand before the Creator of the universe to give an account of what you did: “Here it is Lord — my shell collection! And I’ve got a nice swing, and look at my boat!”

 Don’t waste your life; don’t waste it.”

      I have spent countless hours and sleepless nights pondering that thought: How do I keep from wasting my life?

           The Lord used my pastor, my small group, and these books to help me process and understand something I somehow had missed over the course of my “church kid” life. I was not saved from my sin to live a selfish, care free life filled with comforts, trivial pursuits, and “stuff”. I was saved because the Father loved me infinitely and perfectly. And He wanted to me share this good news, this Gospel: that He loved the world enough to send His only Son as a ransom for sinners. Plain and simple. That was my purpose in life. That was my purpose for being created. To make the name of Jesus known far and wide.

           I’ve struggled over the years to know exactly what that’s supposed to look like. I’m a big believer in the Lord’s sovereignty and that He calls us to different jobs, different cities, different friends, etc for seasons where He expects us to do His work. But I’ve found myself questioning over the years, should I be doing more? If my life is truly being lived in complete submission to Christ, should I be working in vocational ministry? Should I go to seminary? Should I be on staff at a church? Should I work for a nonprofit ministry? Let me share with you what I believe the Lord has been teaching me through this season of questioning and searching.

           The Lord certainly uses vocational ministers to do His work. They are “called”, gifted, and uniquely led by the Holy Spirit to spread the Gospel. But God also uses “regular people” to do His work. Vocational ministry is not the calling for every believer. The gospel of Jesus Christ is spread every day by doctors, policemen, receptionists, construction workers, school teachers, and business professionals. It’s part of the beauty of this Christian life. The Lord in His goodness equips and uses all of His children to advance the kingdom.

      We’ve certainly taken the scenic route in this post, but we’re almost home. 

           The Lord has given me a vision for how I can serve Him and advance the Gospel in my community. Before you go and get Pentecostal on me, not that kind of vision. I was not struck with a blinding light, nor did I hear a voice from Heaven. Rather, He gave me comprehension. An understanding of who I am, what I’m passionate about, how He has gifted me, how He has equipped me, and how He wants me to use these things to serve Him:

I believe the Lord is calling me to open a business. Specifically, a barbershop.

           I could write another lengthy post on how the Lord has affirmed this to me over the last several months and I certainly plan to dive deeper into that at another time.  For now, I’ll give you just a couple of insights on how I’ve come to this conclusion:

1.)    Me: Who am I? Who has the Lord created me to be? How has He gifted me? I can answer that in a few sentences. I have been created as an extremely relational person. Relationships and people matter to me. A lot. I thrive on being around other people. I “come to life” you might say. I need meaningful friendships and conversation. When I go through seasons where my relationships are strained or stale, it changes me. I am at my best – my truest self – when I am in the fellowship and community of people I love.

Additionally, the Lord has given me the spiritual gifts of mercy and hospitality. Mercy – the ability to empathize with others. To be a listening ear. To care for and about people. Hospitality – hosting others in your space and creating a welcoming environment. Opening your home (or place of business) to others and shepherding them.

Practically, I have nearly 15 years’ experience in customer service and managing businesses. I understand the logistics that factor into running a successful business. And I love it. The job just suits me. Engaging customers and employees in conversations, listening to them, helping them solve a problem: the basic job description embodies who I am.

2.)    Community: Shannon and I moved to Arab for the purpose of living close to family and raising our children in the same kind of small town environment in which we were raised. The Lord had greater plans. We have fallen deeply in love with our church and our community. We feel like we belong here. And because we are certain this is where the Lord has planted us, I want to serve my community well. This business will be my base of operations from where I can invest in our community.

I heard a friend from college, Tim Milner, speak at a missions conference at our church last year. Tim is now a pastor in Huntsville and I though I can’t recall the entirety of his sermon, one point from his message spoke to me. Screamed at me might be a better way of putting it: As Christians, let’s not be so focused on reaching the Nations that we forget about our brothers and sisters down the street who need Christ. My Brookhills background had saturated me with an urgency for international missions, but the Lord spoke to me that night during Tim’s message and began softening my heart to the spiritual needs of the people of Arab. I love them and I want to create a business that attends to both their physical and spiritual needs.

      This post has gone much longer than I intended and I fear I may already lost some future readers, but I wanted to thoroughly explain my vision and my heart as best I could. I promise I will try to be more concise with future posts. So let me wrap it up. The goal of this blog, for those of you who care to follow, is to create a space where you can come alongside me in this journey. I am confident that the Lord has set me on this path, but that doesn’t mean I have all the answers. I desperately covet your prayers and wisdom as I strive to be faithful and obedient in this. Here are a few specific areas I would ask for your prayers:

-          Pray that the Lord would give me great wisdom as I explore the best avenue for barber training.

-          Pray that the Lord’s timing would be clear and that all logistics would fall into place according to His plan, not mine.

-          Pray the Lord would begin working in the heart of someone or multiple someones to serve alongside me in this venture.

-          Pray that I would continue to pray and cling to Proverbs 19:1. “Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.”

-          Pray that I would love my wife and children well and show them Jesus through this season of change.

-          Pray that ultimately Christ would receive all the glory and His name be exalted in all of this. 

Thankful for each of you. More to come soon…

Drew

[daddyconfessions]

daddy’s journal: 3/3/16

journal entry 2/26 journal entry 2/17

Monday Feb 22 Bubbles text me first thing that morning. She wanted to see if I was available Wednesday afternoon. I was :) She told me we could have a late lunch wherever I wanted and of course we could have some fun afterwards. I picked one of the most happening spots in town and the date was set.

I like that about Bubbles. She has no problem being seeing out with me. No place is off limits. The restaurant I picked is one I’d tried to take Firecracker, but she had respectfully declined. She’s scared who’d see her. “I know a lot of people and it could hurt my reputation,” or some bullshit like that she had said. We’ve been together almost 7 months now and it’s still a problem.

Not Bubbles though. She was down for whatever. If things worked out, I would reward her for it. But not yet. It was still too early. We’ve only been at this barely a month. I’d give it another month and then see where we were. I plan on keeping FC. She depends on my allowance to pay her rent and other miscellaneous bills so I can’t just cut her off. I do still care for her. But there will be no more Louis bags and shoes and definitely no more Celine bags. I had tried to get her out of town but I wasn’t really interested any more in taking her. I’m putting all that on Bubbles if she stays consistent. We’ll see.

Tuesday Feb 23 It was almost close to noon when Firecracker sent me a text wanting to reschedule our meet. She wanted to move it to Thursday. Also, she hadn’t gotten dressed yet. Something about oversleeping and wouldn’t have enough time to get ready. It was cool. She’s my princess. She can do no wrong. That’s one of the handicaps with dating a 22 year old. They always sleep to noon. 1pm. I’m used to it.

Late afternoon I hit up my contact at the museum. Wanted to see if I had landed the contract. She came back after an hour and told me I had lost out on the bid. Damn. I could have really used their business. Then I started ticking off in my mind all the reasons why I might have lost out on the deal. Everything from logo design, stationary to bidding too low. I probably was overreacting so I shrugged it off. Deals come and go. One thing I know is I need to find me a new assistant. Even with my job situation being shaky, I still need a soldier to carry out my bidding. I think I’ll start looking for one next week.

I was feeling a little down since I hadn’t seen Firecracker and had lost out on the contract. Rough start for the week.  I picked up the phone and texted Kim. Her pic she’d sent was still in my mind. She answered right away.  We did the usual back and forth before setting up a time and place. Then I decided to turn up the heat a bit. I told her I wanted to be her SD. She took several minutes to respond. “Yes baby sounds good.” I told her she was just saying that. But she replied, “No, I would like to.” I was just doing it for sport.

Its hard enough turning a stripper into a girlfriend or SB, but add in a pimp and its almost impossible. Beyond the money you have to break the hold her pimp has on her. Unless you’re another pimp good luck. You have to restore her self-worth. Restore her self esteem. Show her that she deserves to keep the money she makes and not give it to a man. I could go on and on. But I painted a pic of how she wouldn’t have to work as hard, etc., Kim didn’t really respond. Just said “Ok.” She told me she definitely wanted to see me and that I should text her when I get the room.

The problem with seeing escorts is the only want to come after you’ve gotten the room. A bloke could be sitting in the room for an hour or more waiting. I told her to just start heading my way and by the time she got close I’d have the room and stuff. Kim said she would but I knew she wouldn’t.

I left work and headed to the hotel. I was kind of excited to see Kim. It had been almost two weeks. I got the room, went inside and flopped down behind my laptop to kept working. Well actually I was sending out resumes. My job situation had me shaky. I figured she’d be at least 30 minutes later. But I was wrong. About 40 minutes later she texted and said traffic was bad. She even sent a pic of the bumper to bumper traffic.

That was the last I ever heard from her. About 20 minutes after her last text which put me at an hour of waiting, I sent her a text asking where she was. No answer. I waited another 10 minutes and texted again. Nothing. Fuck it. Tuesday’s just not my day. Surely the sugar gods have come to collect on the successful weeks were there was a different girl every day. I packed up my laptop and bounced.

That’s the end for Kim.

I wasn’t looking forward to my date with Bubbles the next day. I was still tired and feeling some type of way with these chicks cancelling on me. Plus I was tired from working all weekend closing one of our business locations. Still I managed to pop by the barber to get my hair right. Get the scraggy hair off my face and trim the goatee. Popped by the cleaners before it closed to pick up my clothes. My assistant used to pick it up for me but sans assistant I had to do it myself. I went home and exfoliated the face with some peach scrub. By 11pm that night, I was ready for my date with Bubbles despite the probability she might cancel. I didn’t feel like blogging on tumblr either. Too tired. I wanted to do my journal entry (February 2/24) but I was beat.

Wednesday Feb 24 I jumped up and got dressed in some Polo jeans and sweater, Polo shirt, nice shirt underneath. My wife was combing my daughter’s hair in our room. “You look nice dad,” my daughter told me. Means a lot coming from her. She’s 12 and has no filter. She’s had me changing clothes more than once. By the time I finished getting dressed, my daughter had left the room.

“When am I going to get some dick,” my wife asked. I was like uhhhh. “You been slacking lately.” Damn I probably ain’t hit in almost 2 months. And she won’t be getting any this week either. “Soon baby,” I said. “Soon.”

I’d been at work a couple of hours when Bubbles texted me. She confirmed our date. An hour before I was about to leave the CEO and CFO invited me into a conference call with some Russians. I was thinking they were just some Russians as in living in the United States. But no, we were doing a video conference with some chaps in St. Petersburg. With business so shoddy in the states, the big boys were turning to Russia for opportunities. I kind of liked it, but I also knew that could possibly mean a trip to Russia in the future for me. An hour later the call was still going. Now I’m starting to sweat bullets. I have to meet Bubbles in 30 minutes or so. Looks like I was going to have push things to 2pm with her. I hoped my rescheduling didn’t kill things. But the sugar gods decided to redeem themselves from the day before. Bubbles texted me before I could text her, telling me she was running late. She’d got out of class late and was on her way to her car.

Thirty minutes later she text again to say she would need an additional 15 minutes. So we ended up pushing the whole thing to 2pm anyway.

When the meeting was over, the big boys wanted to talk. Fuck! After 15 minutes they dismissed us and we all left. I went and locked up my office and hit the parking garage. Half hour later I pulled up to the restaurant. Even though it was after lunch, there were Range Rovers, couple of Rolls Royce’s, and a Aston Martin in the valet section. I went in and she was there sitting on a bench. Looking pretty af. Even better, waiting for me daddy : )

Instinctively I walked up and when she looked up and bent over and gave her a full kiss on the lips. She gave a little tongue back. The hostesses, 3 of them actually, were looking like WTF? I love this life sometimes. They came alive too and hurried up and found us a table.  

It was nice walking into the restaurant with Bubbles. She was completely unbothered by being seen with me which somehow validated how I felt about myself at the moment.  I was Polo’d down, feeling dapper. The waitress showed us to a cozy table. Part of me wanted to sit right next to B, but I sat across from her instead so I could stare into those pretty brown eyes.

Lunch was fabulous. We talked about everything seemingly. You know you’re into someone when the world around you ceases to exist and you’re both leaning forward looking into each others eyes about to kiss. By the end of the date she was touching my hand again. Laughing up every other thing I said. She was either genuinely into me or this girl had some helluva game. Girls like bubbles bring the best out of me. I already wanted to take her shopping. That little beat up car she had I wanted to replace. I want to spoil her rotten. She’s the kind of girl you just want to be with. Hang out with. Sex is secondary. When you see her you just want to hug and kiss on her. Hang out her place, when she’s in sweats and no makeup and just watch TV and eat Cheetos and shit. I’m rambling. Either way I was on her hook and I planned on staying there for the foreseeable future.

We both realized it was time to  head to the hotel. Half hour later we were kissing in the hotel room. I love the way Bubbles kisses. She likes to suck my tongue when she kisses. She also likes to try and shove her tongue down my throat too. I don’t know why but I love that shit. Bubbles barely got off her shoes pants and underwear before I pushed her onto the desk in the room. She looked at me with the quizzical look as I sat down in the desk chair in front of her. I grabbed both legs and lifted them up, spreading her wide, until her feet were resting on desk. I dove right into that pretty pink muff, assaulting the clit with my tongue. I rotated between sucking it and licking it. Bubbles fell back onto the wall behind the desk and grabbed my head. She looked down at me with this mean look on her face. I couldn’t quite decipher it but it didn’t matter. I was licking that kitty like it was no tomorrow. I took two fingers and slid them in. It took a bit of effort since that kitty’s so tight. I lifted my fingers up and went back and forth firmly as I kept thrashing the clit with my tongue. Suddenly her hand fell off my head and she grabbed my ear. “Eat my fucking pussy” she demanded. I looked up and her head fell back on the wall and her eye closed. Her stomach bounced up/down rapidly and she twitched a little. Babygirl had cum.

Bubbles was multi-orgasmic so I just kept on going repeating what I’d done to make her cum. Her legs got tired of being on the desk, so one fell off. I took my hand out of the kitty and lifted her leg so that it was resting on my shoulder. I moved in closer to make it more comfortable. I took her other foot and moved it so that it could rest on my other shoulder. Then I slid my fingers back and went to work again. She came once more and slumped down on the desk. She nearly fell off too. Time to move to the bed.

Bubbles has a female roommate who she fucks from time to time. I usually take whatever a SB says and multiply it by two to get the real story which means they’re probably tribbing quite often. Or, she’s has another female she’s seeing regularly. And girls make the best kitty lickers. So…I had to show out. As I said in my last journal entry, winning over Bubbles would take more than just money. In the end its all for sport. Even if I fail, I would have had fun trying.

We started kissing when we got to the bed. Bubbles was licking my face and lips, trying to taste that kitty. She’s so nasty. As she laid back and went at that kitty again. I couldn’t tell if my face was wet from her kitty or from all the saliva she’d left trying to taste it.

After one more nut, I slapped on a condom. I got the tip in before she started wincing and moving back. She just couldn’t take the dick. I took my time, roughly a few minutes before I was able to get it in and get a decent motion. “God your dick is so fucking fat…” she said. I noticed Bubbles likes to get vulgar when I with her. Kind of like it. We tried intercourse but after a few minutes she asked if I could finish in her mouth. I said yes but I kept on stroking. I shifted angles and was able to get further inside. She seemed to like it. “Just keep on fucking me like that…” she said. And I did, trying to get more of me in her. But still she threw in the towel and we switched. She got on her knees in between my legs and shared her knowledge. I came in less than a minute. This girl’s enlightened I tell you.

She sat back and rubbed both my legs and asked, “Was that good baby.” I looked up just in time to see a drop of cum slide down the side of her mouth. She chuckled and swiped it up with a finger. She put it in her mouth and smiled. “I never lose drop.”

God I love this girl.

That night Firecracker hit me up. We exchanged about 2 or 3 text before we set up a time for Thursday. I was looking forward to it actually. Firecracker’s got some good pussy for a 22 year old. I can’t wait to see my princess.

Bubbles texted too. Thank me for a wonderful date. I thanked her for making an old man feel special. Making me feel good. She told me I wasn’t old and that age was just a number. She said I was very handsome and that she was glad she’d met me. “And you got some good oral skills too,” she added. Not sure if she gassing me up or not, but I liked it.

Thursday Feb. 25. More bullshit from Firecracker. She hit me up around noon asking if she could be a little late to the meeting. She had to do some school stuff.  2 hours later she just cancelled altogether.  WTF?  I’m sure what happened is she slept until noon instead of getting up and running her errands. When I said a few things about it she was like, “Its not big deal. We still have Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

Then I got upset. She’s being disrespectful. Well I should say she’s not respecting my time. I do a lot to juggle things so that I can be with her. Princess is a priority. So for her to just minimize my shit to “it’s no big deal” had me feeling some type of way.

And no we didn’t have Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I was hooking up with Bubbles again. Sunday was family day.

No tumblr blogging tonight.

Friday Feb 26th Around noon Firecracker knocks on the hotel room door. I let her in…She’s a trainwreck. Eyes watery, makeup done enough just to be ok for our meet. She tells me how her cycle is coming and she’s been crying all day over little shit. I sat on the bed and pulled her to me. I told her “You is fine and You is beautiful and You is Smart and You is having a bad day…” we both laughed. I told her we could cancel but she said she didn’t want to. “You can’t be rough today,” she smiled.

Lately I had turned it up a bit with her. Hair pulling, choking, spanking. In the 6 months I’ve known her she’s matured a lot both mentally, physically and sexually. I picked up on the fact that her fuckboy’s were weak. The latest had been scared to really fuck her because she was so pretty. He treated her like a precious gift, but really she wanted to be manhandled. She wanted a man to run that pussy. I lowkey accepted the new requirement and had stepped up my game.

But today, she just needed to be loved. I ate the kitty and usually after two orgasms she tries to scoot away. I had my hands around her legs and stomach. When the third one was near I clamped down. As anticipated she tried to run, but she could go nowhere. “Baby I can’t take anymore….” But I was merciless. “Baby baby stop,” but I refused. I told her if she felt like peeing to go ahead. She looked up and gave me that “how do you know look”. Then she said, “No. I’m not doing that. No.”

I set her free she scattered across the bed from me like she was scared suddenly. I coaxed her back over to me then I spent a few minutes kissing and rubbing her body all over. I sucked where appropriate – neck, breast, earlobes. Then went inside her and I stayed there for a good 20 mintes. Just fucking her and fucking her and fucking her. Its like her body was calling me. She came twice before I finally did. Afterwards I lay beside her, sweating profusely from all the work. FC did something surprising; she rolled over and laid on me. She’s never done that. I took her in my arms and held her tight. After a few moments, probably minutes, I could tell she was crying still. I took her by the chin and raised her head up. “Are you crying?” I asked. She nodded.

Now I’m worried. I’ve been around lots of women. So I’ve seen the symptoms of being on period. But my princess was crying a little too much. I’m suspecting something else is going on. But now is not the time to talk about it.

About 30 minutes later FC was getting dressed. She was happy. Bouncing around the room, talking shit about this and that. Back to her old self. No tears. All the shit she said she wouldn’t be doing that night, had changed to I’m going here. Then me and my girls are going there. Then we’ll probably end up over there.

That’s my baby.

Before she left I pulled her to me. I asked her if anyone had hurt her. She shrugged and said no. Then I dug deeper. I asked if any fuckboy had hurt her. Or, had her ex-boyfriend come back and hurt her?

But she said it was nothing. Blamed it all on her period. We said our goodbyes. She made it to her car before I did mine. She backed out and peeled off. Suddenly she was on a mission. I was really confused now.

That night I hooked up with some of the recently laid off co-workers. One of them was the Oracle. She said she would get there early if I wanted to go ahead and come. So I took the opportunity. I needed to run this Firecracker stuff by her.

We ended up meeting at the same place I’d taken Bubbles on our first date. Crazy. Me and the Oracle were the only ones there. After a brief catchup I asked her about FC. Told her the whole story about missing our dates and including her crying in the room.

The Oracle was like, “Three things likely happened. Her boyfriend managed to get back in with her and hurt her. Or she met some new dude that hurt her feelings or, it really was her period. I mean I been cranky and tearful before when I was on my period. Not wanting to leave the house. Just sitting around crying. Or, it could be a combination of 2 of the three. My gut tells me she’s having some man problems.”

I raised my margarita glass. The Oracle raised hers. We clicked them and I said, “I got to talk to you more often.” She smiled. “Yes you do! But I wouldn’t worry about her. Sounds like you got her mind right. Got her feeling good about herself. That’s what you’re there for big Daddy.” We both chuckled.

Saturday Feb 27th Bubbles text and cancelled our date for that afternoon. It was cool. I was still a little hung over from the night before. And after working all last weekend I just wanted to lie around the house and do nothing. By this point I was used to being cancelled on.

I ended up sleeping all day. My wife came home that afternoon and got in the bed with me and went to sleep as well. I don’t think I’ve laid around the house all day in almost a year. Felt good. Then  I got a weird text. It ended up being one of my other co-workers. My plug! My Cohibas had come in. He sent a pic too

Just in time too. I was down to my last 2. Fresh

Not a bad end to a rough week…..

[storiesbybrian]

The Barber of Ludlow Street (June, 2000)

MK had been in the guitar business for 20 years. When he saw desperate marketers whine about the fickle nature of youthful passion, he scoffed. “A myth!” he said, squirreling away the commissions his boss let him keep until he made enough money to open up his own shop in the nearest epicenter of wildness that he knew, New York City’s Lower East Side. But his time worn formula for getting money out of crazy kids and indulgent parents bought him his independence about three years too late. To MK’s dismay the slow weeks piled up, held together by a thick mortar of bills, until he finally learned that kids today prefer Hip-Hop to Rock ‘n Roll. The Lit Fuse Guitar Shop, the culmination of 20 years of sacrifice, dedicated to serving the dreams of a new generation of Rock ‘n Rollers, opened to an indifferent public.

But MK wouldn’t give up. Conducting his own marketing survey, he noticed a lot of Asian kids strolling around the neighborhood, the yokes of their purchases cutting wide swaths in the sidewalk. MK remembered a piece he had seen on 60 Minutes about the Japanese Hip Hop craze and he snapped his fingers in revelation. He recalled wealthy Japanese kids tanning themselves and having their flat black hair professionally damaged into spongy manes of dreadlocks. So, with the help of RS, his one, slow-witted employee, MK changed his outdated Rock ‘n Roll shop into a one-stop, negrofying boutique that he hoped would keep the Fuse lit for as long as the wind blew black. He needed his customers to trust the with-itness of his taste though in his heart he knew it was only a matter of time before rock stars recaptured the imaginations of alienated children. But until the day when the wail of his guitars could swallow up the beats of his newly stocked dance records, he was gonna wring every dollar he could out of this rap fad. Behind the shop, he poured concrete, installed an old-fashioned barber’s chair, hung a mirror from a hook, draped a mylar canopy over the whole thing and invited kids to let the Rude Boy Salon tend to their fashionable grooming needs. And a haircut got you a 10% discount on a guitar.  

 Morning at the Sunshine Hotel is met with toothless grumbles of resentment.  Morning carries a price tag of $10. Those without monthly benefactors shoot out the door south, south west, west, north west and north like crooked spokes from the Sunshine’s Bowery horizon looking for the means to reserve the pleasure of the Sunshine’s accommodations for yet another evening by the 7 o’clock curfew. But PJ hooked around the corner and went east, to Ludlow Street. He was 54 years old.

           Everybody knew PJ- the police, the neighbors, the mailmen, the supers, the bartenders and owners, the children, the garbagemen. Everybody. He was an inevitability on Ludlow Street with his boisterous gibberish, big bang cloud of cologne and his broom. “I’m fine as wine! You a frien’ o’mine! Anytime you need a rhyme! I see you, cuz!”  

His dire financial straits, his alcoholism, his age- none of it meant a damn thing to PJ. It took a strong being to crumble the way he did and keep his sweaty black resilience about him. He swept and mopped for his pocket money and told stories about busting the spine of the man he caught with his second wife or about his position of authority when he worked for the sanitation department. He had also been a cook, a gardener and a barber, as anyone within 20 feet of his rantings could attest.  

When CN, the owner of a local bar called Barratoba, had t-shirts made with pictures of PJ on the front, his cult status in the neighborhood was lifetime guaranteed. MK, still a new kid by block standards, immediately cultivated a friendship with PJ, thinking it was his ticket to fitting in in the neighborhood.  

One day in August, MK was outside smoking a cigarette and scanning the block for professional music enthusiasts. His sales for the month were still off and the haircut gimmick had no one abuzz. He had hired a barber from a local salon. But too many customers were demanding refunds, disappointed with the authenticity of their new dos. MK was left wondering whether he needed somebody who knew more about hairstyling or less. PJ was taking out the recycling from CN’s bar across the street.  

MK called out to him, “PJ, my friend! How are you today?”

“Yo, cuz! Gimme dolla!”

MK reached into his pocket and PJ crossed the street towards him hand first.  

“PJ, my main man!” MK said, slapping PJ five, “How would you like another job?”

PJ blinked at him seriously for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“No, really. How would you like to cut hair for me?”

“I was a barber for seven years in Nokalyna!”

“That’s what I hear. So how ‘bout it? I pay you ten bucks a head and anytime you want a bottle of anything, you just let me know. Deal?”

PJ shook MK’s hand and told him, “I be back after I get the flo’ mats at Quinine.  They pay me extra to do them. Good music over there. You ever wanna go, you jus’ let me know. But ssshhh. Don’t tell anybody, a’ight? You a good guy. I get you in at Quinine, ‘k? Den I go get Barratoba’s and Guiseppe’s. They nice, too.”

“OK, PJ, I’ll see you later. Thank you.”

And MK had his barber. PJ took off to wherever he went when he had money and MK dropped his cigarette and went inside. Within weeks, PJ’s distinctive style became MK’s greatest source of revenue.

 Any grandparents who came up through Manhattan’s Lower East Side, be they Jews from the first half of the last century or Spanish from the second, would be shocked to learn that one block of Ludlow Street now has seven fancy designer clothing shops and almost no drug trade. Girls who never would have set foot on Ludlow Street five years ago are now running the Community Board.  

The newest proprietress of a clothing shop was called EW. EW had quit her investment banking job to open Glo, an astronomically upscale accessory shop. She had a German shepherd named Tamburlaine who did not get along with PJ.  

A few days before Glo’s grand opening in late August, EW was supervising the finishing touches on her window display- a thick pyramid of handbags that were custom stitched from maple leaf shaped patches of leather and suede in front of a poster of an orange lagoon. Tamburlaine began to growl from inside the window and EW turned to see PJ lugging enormous bags of trash and plopping them down on the sidewalk in front of her new store.

“Excuse me sir, but you can’t put that garbage here,” she said politely to PJ.

“Huh? Naw, dey comin’ for it in two hour.  I use to work for sanitation. Two hour,” PJ said EW.

“I don’t really care. You can’t put that garbage in front of my store.”

“Who you? Ask anybody on the block. They know me! They my friend! Ask cuz over at barbershop.”

PJ dropped his bags and went back inside, returning seconds later with another load of garbage.

“Sir. You’re not listening to me. That’s somebody else’s trash. Put it in front of their building.”

“No!” PJ yelled. His right knee began to pop involuntarily out of joint, an ancient baseball injury that flared up in times of stress. “This the same garbage from the same building I been puttin’ in the same place for 20 year!”

Sensing his mistress was in trouble, Tamburlaine bounded outside and began barking at PJ. PJ said, “You better get that muthafuckin’ clown away from me!”

“Or what?”

“Don’ you worry none. You just get that thing inside. I don’t like him!” PJ said, his trick knee hopping and forcing his hips to grind back and forth.  

At this EW stepped quickly back and pulled out her cell phone and called the police. “Yes, I’m calling from Ludlow Street between Houston and Stanton,” she said. “Yes, a street man is leaving rubbish in front of my store and threatening my dog and myself- what? Right, garbage… Yes. Thank you.”

PJ clucked his mouth exasperatedly, knowing that when the cops learned that the alleged source of trouble was he, they’d laugh the whole thing off and explain PJ’s prestigious status on the block to newcomer EW. He wiped the sweat from his brow and then clutched his leg, trying to get it to stop twitching so violently.

Inside of five minutes, a squad car pulled up next to PJ’s plump row of garbage.  

“Yo!” PJ greeted the pair of officers. “Tell this blonde woman leave me alone!”

One officer got out of the car while the other sat behind the wheel with a pen and summons pad spread across her lap. Tamburlaine continued to bark viciously.

“What’s up PJ?”

“A’right!”

“Hold on a second, PJ. Alright, miss, are you the one who filed the complaint?”

“Yes and thank you for coming so quickly,” said EW, raising her voice to be heard over her dog’s racket. “This person is harassing me and dumping this trash in front of my building.”

“Who, him?”

“Yes. Him.”

The dog continued to bark and flinch everytime PJ’s knee jumped.

“Alright sir,” said the cop with his hands on his hips. “Where is this trash from?”

“Man, you know where this trash from. ‘S from Guiseppe next do’ but I ain’t gon’ put it in front of no goddamn fire hydrant!”

“Well, what about over there?” asked the cop, pointing to space in front of a nightclub that wouldn’t be open until much later.

“Man, I don’t get paid to be draggin’ this shit all up and down the block!”

“There’s no need to yell at the police, you know.”

“Miss, we’ll handle this.”  

“Well, look at how he’s acting. It’s like he’s gonna attack me.”

The cop noticed PJ’s jumpiness and stepped back and began fingering his nightstick. “Sir. Move the garbage and stop bothering the lady or we’ll have to arrest you.”

Drained from the officer’s face was any trace of recognition of PJ. His partner in the car stared down at her lap. With a vicious grunt, PJ snatched up the garbage bags and began dragging them the 10 feet to where the cop had designated. EW and the officers stood over him until he had finished hauling the entire pile of bags and continued to eye him until he left, which he did, cussing and twitching the whole way. PJ needed a drink.

 Meanwhile CT and FL were sitting at Kennedy Airport, waiting to pick up their friend, BD. BD’s flight was arriving from Tokyo via San Francisco. The girls could not stop giggling. They hadn’t seen BD in several years but they kept in touch regularly and now they could finally show their dear friend all of the wonders and marvels of New York in person.  

During the years that CT and FL had been building a life for themselves in New York City, BD had been building a reputation as a world class interior designer. His arrival in the States was greatly anticipated by the design community who found him so fascinating. Throughout their time apart, CT and FL fully cooperated in BD’s plan to cultivate an air of mystery which his arrival would solve with what all three friends hoped would be sensational panache.

When the plane taxied up to the gate, CT and FL clapped their hands excitedly. BD burst from the tunnel and all three old friends met in a fierce collision of joyful reunion. Each of them began speaking rapidly at once which led to uproarious laughter.  The girls had so much to tell BD and to ask him, and he them. CT and FL each clasped one of BD’s hands and led him down to baggage claim where his limousine driver had already collected his gear. BD told them a funny story about customs in San Francisco as he handed his carry-on luggage to the driver as well.

In the back seat of the limo on the way into Manhattan, the girls asked BD what he would like to do first.  

“Well,” BD said with much relish. “The first thing I want to do is visit Rude Boy for a haircut.” And he showed them a small article torn from a Japanese magazine. The article featured a picture of a famous Japanese record producer. The producer’s mangled head looked like a lopsided Rastafarian who had changed his mind about enlisting in the Marines at an extremely inopportune moment.  

“Ahh,” said the girls collectively. “PJ.”

             The article BD held pointed out that MK didn’t allow customers into his barbershop unless they brought at least two friends to hold them down in the old chair. Insurance purposes. It also offered Rude Boy customers a 10% discount on all guitars in the Lit Fuse. So, CT and FL instructed the limousine to drop them off in front of the Lit Fuse and then take their bags to their own shop, which was just one block away on Orchard Street.

The girls led BD into the Rock ‘n Roll/Hip Hop shop where MK greeted them warmly and asked if they’d like to see anything in particular. BD handed MK the cut-out, which flattered MK tremendously. His adaptation to the changing of the times had garnered international notoriety. A glow rushed about MK’s face and his mouth flapped back into the biggest smile that he’d worn in years.  

MK shook hands with CT and FL while BD was looking through the store’s album collection. After a moment, BD returned to MK at the counter with a very high stack of records. CT and FL asked MK if they could leave these records on the counter and cash them out after BD’s superfly haircut. Mentally adding up the value of BD’s purchase, MK wagged his head like a puppy. Then he led the three of them back to the barbershop under the tinselly outdoor shine of the canopy.  

           BD sat down in the chair, flanked by CT and FL. MK gave the chair a good spin round, determined to delight BD to the pits of his soul and surpass every dream that BD had ever had about American Hip Hop culture. BD smiled and closed his eyes, ready to be transformed in appearance to what he already felt in his heart.  

           “Be right back…” sang MK and ran back into the store to summon PJ.  

           Befitting the grand entry of his star attraction, MK had taken a page from the NBA and engineered a garish bit of fanfare to let PJ, and the whole neighborhood, know that he had a customer. With the push of one button, a series of cherrytop police car lights began swirling in the Lit Fuse’s windows. Sirens and ice cream truck songs howled to a techno rhythm, punctuated by blasts from a lifeguard whistle. And then an announcer’s voice blared through the circus jungle beats:

 “THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS! HE STILL AIN’T CROAKED! ANOTHER HEAD FROM A FARAWAY LAND LOOKS TO BE CURED BY THE THUNDERBIRD HAND OF THE MAN OF THE HOUR, MAN OF THE DAY! LET’S HEAR IT HO’S AND G’S FOR HIS TRAVESTY, P-J!”

             The first few times that this explosion of bells and whistles rocked Ludlow Street, a few of PJ’s many friends and empathizers applauded as he burst from wherever to go careening through the Lit Fuse, hellbent on revising the possibilities of a hairdo. But after PJ’s work began to attract a larger number of customers, the frequent cranking of his theme song became a hardcore nuisance. MK received enough complaints that he began to sneak off the premises as soon as he turned on PJ’s noisy invitation. He would wander through the back way to sit and have tea down the street, leaving the store in RS’s incompetent care rather than field complaints from the neighbors.

           So, as BD waited in the chair, the clanging and screeching BOOM BOOM BOOMed to summon PJ. PJ was down in Barratoba’s swilling gin, trying to recover from the shameful outrage of the policeman making him kowtow to that new blonde lady. PJ remembered when that cop was eight years old and shot an old man in the shoulder with his beebee gun. PJ tried to suck the liquor out of the tilted bottle faster than it could pour and it splashed out of his full mouth and ran down his chin in silver trickles. When the bottle was empty, PJ cast it aside and jerked his sleeve across his mouth. Then he charged out of the bar towards the noise that was calling him to sculpt someone’s head like an African banzai tree.

           PJ whirled out into the bright light of the street, his dirty limbs gangling like giant pinwheels. Cars slammed on their breaks to avoid this stumbling dervish that seemed part liberated bull, part agitated rodent. Pretty young women shopping up and down the block reared back in horror to allow PJ to swarm his way past the pounding speakers and blaring lights and into the Lit Fuse.  

           BD was waiting for PJ in the back with an outstretched hand. Something about the scene seemed vaguely familiar to PJ and for a split second he wondered if he had ever fought overseas. He found his hand being tugged vigorously, worshipfully by the young Japanese man with the flat black hair. The mylar glinted above him and his muddy eyes took on a look of understanding.  

           BD mistook PJ’s newfound orientation of his whereabouts for an acknowledgement of their spiritual kinship. He smiled at the older man and lay back in the chair, waving off CT and FL. The two girls went back inside the shop. BD beamed ecstatically from his chair, overjoyed to be face to face with his kindred enigma, PJ. He handed his remaker, his redeemer another picture of the haircut he wanted. This picture was taken from the same magazine but the article was about police brutality in New York City, of which the young man in the picture was a victim.  

           PJ tenderly fingered the ragged edge of the picture and briefly forgot that he was too drunk to stand up. He held out his hand to BD. BD handed him two $100 bills. PJ’s eyes lit up and something about the image that sat under the money in his strong hand clicked. He nodded his head and got to work.  

           BD closed his eyes. PJ shaved tiny stripes into the young man’s eyebrows. Then PJ took the scissors. He raised them straight up and assumed the exact pose of Lady Liberty lifting her lamp beside the golden door. With his other hand, he pressed his large palm to BD’s temple and took a snippet of hair between two of his fingers. Then the scissors began jawing rapidly and swooped down at BD’s head. BD became secretly terrified in PJ’s shaky hands. But the scissors plunged along the shape of his sleek head accurately, shearing off a shaggy wing of hair. It was exhilarating and BD relaxed a little, surrendering to the moment. PJ reared the scissors back like a tailor’s needle. His trick knee had subsided and hardly jerked at all. On this pass, the hand on BD’s forehead rolled towards the incoming razor bomb. With a horrible squinching sound, PJ snipped off BD’s ear.  

           “Oh Lo’d!” shouted PJ as the blood spurted all the way up to the silver ceiling. BD began to cry and chant the comforting words of some of his favorite songs.

           “Docta! We need a docta! He’p! He’p!” cried PJ, dancing around in BD’s blood. BD began convulsing in the chair. “Shee-it!”

           CT and FL were inside the shop listening to BD’s new records on headphones. RS was watching the records spin round and round. But a few other customers peaked into the back to see what the ruckus was about. When they saw PJ’s ghoulish dance under the canopy and the young Japanese man writhing in the chair murmuring “you gon’ make me lose me mind-up in here, up in here” in a thick accent, they immediately searched about the place for cameras, certain as they were that a music video was being filmed out back. It was so easy to accept the absurdity of the scene as some vaguely symbolic play on entertainment and modern medicine. But something about the lack of cameras and the amount of blood blasting out of the side of BD’s head seemed too lavish for a rehearsal. What was going on back here? “i am walrus, i am walrus, ki ko ki shoom,”? Almost apologetically, the gravity of the situation asserted itself and the two young guitar shoppers were forced to accept the irrevocability of what had happened. One of them had been shopping for a guitar, the other a bass. The guitarist swooned but the bass player kept his cool and dashed back into the store and behind the counter to call an ambulance for the mutilated Japanese boy in the chair.  

           Rather than sobering PJ up, the accident thrust him into an entirely different realm of intoxication. He still thought maybe he could keep this whole thing quiet and nobody would find out. So he placed BD’s ear on the counter next to the jar of blue disinfectant. Then he combed some of the blood out of BD’s hair and skillfully continued the abstract trimming he had begun a few moments earlier. BD passed out, certain that his plane to JFK hadn’t even landed yet.

             The ambulance arrived a few minutes later and rushed BD to the hospital. Police arrested PJ and pulled BD’s ear and $200 from his pocket. The ear was perfectly in tact, like an unbitten cookie, but it would never work again. Blood and hair had clogged BD’s auditory canal and damaged his eardrum during his convulsions and the entire left side of his face caught an infection from PJ’s rusty scissors. At CT and FL’s insistence, the ear was sewn back onto BD’s head for reasons purely cosmetic.  

           BD stayed in the hospital for a few days. His design and magazine contacts were notified and they all came to visit him. It was a great disappointment for all parties concerned that the mysterious BD should finally be revealed in a hospital cot with a useless ear freshly stitched onto such a blotched, ugly face, capped now by his astonishing haircut. Several established members of the industry in which BD starred were horrified to learn of the conditions of the Rude Boy Salon. None of them were opposed to underground fashion per se, but a homeless drunk using unsanitary blades seemed too extreme. This was not a haircut. It was assault and they demanded justice.

             Back on Ludlow Street, word spread. MK stood in front of his store smoking and furtively looking for anyone wearing one of CN’s PJ t-shirts, which he was prepared to buy for as much as $35 apiece. He needed to distance himself from the incident and keep his store open. As soon as the police had taken PJ away, he had taken down the canopy and the chair and dumped the remaining furniture in a different alley, in Queens. Then he had RS scrub BD’s blood off of the concrete behind the store. Rude Boy was finished, but he’d be damned before he’d lose the Lit Fuse. He considered offering to pay BD’s medical expenses, but then thought that such a gesture might suggest greater responsibility for the assault than he could afford to accept. PJ lived in a flophouse on skid row. He had no family, no money and, to MK’s way of thinking, a primitive, ill-developed grasp on reality. PJ could afford to take the whole rap.

           But how would a rap stick to a man as disenfranchised as PJ? With no driver’s license, no social security number, no fingerprints on file, no credit, no library card, no nothing except a nickname, he was a phantom, completely disentangled from the institutional marionette strings yanking most of us around.  

             PJ was being held at the 7th Precinct. Detective QV had been called in to help discern PJ’s identity. PJ was little help. No matter what question they asked him, PJ said, “I cut that Chinese boy. I cut that boy.”  

           QV pulled PJ’s arresting officer aside.

           “What do you know about this guy?”

           “Officially, not much, detective. Everybody in the neighborhood knows him but nobody knows anything about him. Last name, where he’s from, nothing. The guy’s slicker than batshit. Most famous John Doe I ever met.”

           “The kid in the hospital pressing charges?”

           “That’s what proprietor of the guitar shop says.”

           “Lit Fuse?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Yeah, I know that guy. MK. He’s a real cocksucker. Wish we could arrest him instead.”

           “Nothing tying him to the incident, detective. The alley where the barber chair was ain’t even his property. And any business ties he had with homeboy in there were strictly off the books. Not a thing we can do about it.”

           “What about all that noisy shit in his window?”

           “He says it’s a gift from some Japanese kid whose friends request him to play it. So how long we gonna keep Mr. PJ in there?”

           “I dunno. Assault like that’s two to four. But we don’t really know who he is. No assets to lean on, no retribution for the kid’s ear. Just punishment for the old guy.”

           The phone rang and the officer went back to his desk to answer it. Detective QV paced back and forth, rubbing his head and smoking. He didn’t like any of it. He was worried that PJ would be remanded to the mental ward at Bellevue with the rest of the John Does if he didn’t cough up more details about himself. But PJ was too distraught to recount a personal history. People around the neighborhood repeated his stories about North Carolina and the sanitation department, the Sunshine Hotel stuck to its policy of non-cooperation, and civic records had nothing that matched his prints or general appearance. He didn’t like any of it.

           PJ’s groaning lament continued: “I cut that Chinese boy. I cut that boy. I cut that Chinese boy. I cut that boy.”

           Several months earlier, back when BD was still in Osaka, AO finally scraped together enough money to buy his guitar back from the Lit Fuse. But MK wanted more than double what AO had hocked it for, which was considerably less than AO had saved up. So, needing something to play on his upcoming tour of central Michigan, AO was forced to settle for an inferior guitar. He handed MK his hard earned cash and stared up at his own baby hanging on the wall, gleaming forlornly back at him. MK shrugged behind the register in mock empathy with AO.  AO was PJ’s cousin.

                       MK sat behind the counter at the Lit Fuse, sweaty and nervous. He hadn’t slept for days and the only thing he’d eaten in the last 24 hours was half a bottle of aspirin. Three times yesterday, he thought he heard PJ shouting in the street. He turned down to his pocket video game to distract himself from the strange paranoia that had afflicted him ever since he had visited the 7th Precinct to wriggle himself out of any occupation of the space between BD and his ear.

           A mist jammed his nostrils and yanked out a sneeze.  

           “God bless you.”

           MK looked up to see PJ towering over him in a cowboy hat.

           Two police officers in uniform entered the Lit Fuse and handcuffed MK and read him the Miranda warning. PJ pulled AO’s baby down from the wall and handed it to him.  

             Back at the hospital, BD was going through therapy to regain a sense of balance and adjust to his hearing loss. CT and FL informed him that PJ was out of jail and that the owner of the shop had been arrested instead. The owner of the alley behind the Lit Fuse had been summoned to prosecute MK for vandalism and conducting unlicensed surgery on private property. PJ had been bailed out by a relative.

           BD wanted to know what the relative had told the police about PJ.  

           “Not much,” FL said. “Just that he didn’t used to be so simple. He wouldn’t say what happened or how he dissipated so or anything.”

           “Is he in any more trouble?” BD asked.

           “That’s up to you,” CT told him.

             A few days later, BD checked out of the hospital and went downtown to see PJ. He wore a hunting hat with earflaps to cover his wound. BD was directed east to a small jazz club called Quinine where he stood outside, smoking cigarettes and waiting for PJ.

Sure enough, the older man emerged from the club lugging his garbage. He was much less exuberant than he had been the first time the two had met. PJ stopped for a rest and struck up a conversation with the young Japanese man in the hat.  

           “Yo cuz! Gimme cigarette.”

           “Here. Take two.”

           “Thank you. Thank you.”

           “Yes.”

           “I used to cut hair over Ludlow Street.”

           “Really?”

           “Yeah. But I hurt somebody. He a Chinese like you.”

           “Mmmm.”

           “He a nice young man, too. I felt bad.I used to be barber, before I work for sanitation department.”

           “Ah.”

           BD looked down at his cigarette.

           “See, you got to learn more English. This the USA, man! This ain’t China.  USA!”

           “I trying. Thank you.”

           “A’ight cuz. See you later, k?”

[jessicakehoe]

11 Australian Brands to Shop This Week to Help Support Bushfire Relief Efforts

To put it simply, Australia is burning. The land down under is currently experiencing some of the worst fires in its history – Victoria has been declared a state of disaster, New South Wales a state of emergency, 23 people have been killed, six are still missing, 13 million acres of land has been burnt (more than that of both the Amazon wildfires and Californian bushfires combined) and it’s estimated that around 500 million animals have died. Plus, more than 200 fires continue to threaten lives, homes and wildlife in the country as we speak.

In recent days the international community has rallied to support Australia – comedian Celeste Barber has raised more than $32 million via a Facebook fundraiser, and a slew of celebrities have come forward imploring the world to take notice and donate to various organizations helping to fight the devastation.

Keen to help but not sure how? Well, now is the time to buy big into Australian brands. Plenty of local labels in the country have pledged to donate a percentage of, or all, of their proceeds this week to bushfire relief efforts. Here’s where you should be filling up your carts:

Alex Perry

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#AlexPerryOfficial #Resort20 #AlexPerry

A post shared by ALEX PERRY (@alexperryofficial) on Dec 23, 2019 at 2:34pm PST

Having dressed some of the world’s biggest celebrities, Australian designer Alex Perry’s designs are highy sought after. Add one to your closet this week as the brand is donating 100 per cent of proceeds from all of its sales between January 5-11 to the NSW Rural Fire Service.

Shop it here.

Camilla

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@iyannathemodel floats into the new year in our Folk River Sunray Pleated Kaftan. Voluminous and free flowing, it’s a pleated statement of the season. #camillawithlove #MOTHER19

A post shared by CAMILLA (@camillawithlove) on Jan 2, 2020 at 10:44pm PST

In support of the “ongoing fire assistance”, Camilla, which is known for its beach vacay-ready pieces and vivid prints, is auctioning off rare pieces from its archive on Friday January 10, as well as donating 10 per cent of sales made on its newest collection which launches Wednesday.

Shop it here.

Christopher Esber

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RESORT 20 | @emrata in the Loophole Tie Skirt and Wrap Cropped Tie Shirt

A post shared by Christopher Esber (@christopher_esber) on Dec 16, 2019 at 2:15am PST

Cool girl go-to label Christopher Esber has also pledged to donate 100 per cent of its profits this week to the NSW Rural Fire Service. Time to stock up on the brand’s signature keyhole pieces.

Shop it here.

Frank Body

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Delete your Tinder profile: I'm the Aussie hunk you've been looking for. My A-Beauty Scrub has ingredients like 🌱Eucalyptus, 🌴Finger Lime, and 💐Kakadu Plum; native to my backyard and soon your bathroom. They naturally target pigmentation, blemishes, and breakouts. And I do all that without ever losing my accent. Crikey.

A post shared by frank body (@frank_bod) on Aug 15, 2019 at 1:03pm PDT

Beauty brand Frank Body is loved for its body scrubs, and until the end of January, it will donate 100 per cent of all sales from its A-Beauty scrub to WIRES, the Country Fire Authority and the NSW Rural Fire Service. No time like the present to exfoliate, people.

Shop it here.

Jagger & Stone

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THE HEARTLAND CRUSH SHEER MIDI | @jaggerandstone x @endlesslyloveclub Don’t forget tomorrow for 24 hrs we will he donating 50% of online sales to the Bushfire Disaster Appeal 🖤

A post shared by Jagger & Stone (@jaggerandstone) on Jan 5, 2020 at 11:06pm PST

‘Gram-ready pieces are this brand’s forte – think snakeskin crops, slinky midi dresses and printed tees. Tomorrow, January 7, the brand is donating 50 per cent of its sales to the Salvation Army Bushfire Disaster Appeal.

Shop it here.

Kerrie Hess Illustration

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‘We are all in this together’ 🐨🖤 My latest art print just added to the shop. 💯 % of sales of this and everything else in my store going to @wireswildliferescue 🦘💕🐿 THANK YOU to the 37 people who have already purchased this print today!! 🙌🏽 #wireswildliferescue #australianbushfires

A post shared by Kerrie Hess (@kerriehessillustration) on Jan 5, 2020 at 1:11am PST

Fashion illustrator Kerrie Hess has created a limited edition print in aid of bushfire relief. The sweet sketch features an image of a koala with the words, “We’re all in this together” scrawled underneath. 100 per cent of sales from the print, in addition to everything else in her online store, from now until January 15th is being donated to WIRES Wildlife Rescue.

Shop it here.

Le Specs

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VACAY MODE 🌴 /// @mollybsims wears ‘I FEEL LOVE’ #Sunglasses #LeSpecs

A post shared by Le Specs (@lespecs) on Jan 4, 2020 at 4:10pm PST

Need some new eyewear? Treat yourself to a pair of Le Specs this week as 100 per cent of all profits made globally between January 6-12 will be donated to WIRES Wildlife Rescue.

Shop it here.

Megan Hess

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HAPPY NEW YEAR Everyone!!!!! Wherever you are in the world I’m sending you an enormous HUG!!! No matter what happened this year you can make every dream come true in 2020!!! Love to everyone. 💋💋💋xxxx

A post shared by MEGAN HESS (@meganhess_official) on Dec 31, 2019 at 2:07am PST

The Hess sisters are banding together in support of their country this week with fellow fashion illustrator Megan Hess also pledging to donate 100 per cent of all print sales across the week to the Red Cross.

Shop it here.

Petite Grand

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Heart and Star Rings, available at @incu_clothing 💫⁠ .⁠ .⁠ .⁠ .⁠ #petitegrand #petitegrandjewellery #heartring #starring #goldjewellery #jewellery #incu #incuclothing #petitegrandstockist

A post shared by Petite Grand Jewellery (@petitegrand) on Dec 29, 2019 at 10:30pm PST

If you’re in the market for some new jewellery (aren’t we all?), then we suggest you add a few pieces to cart over at Petite Grand this month. For the month of January, the brand is donating 10 per cent of its sale to the NSW Rural Fire Service and WIRES Wildlife Rescue.

Shop it here.

Sass & Bide

One of Australia’s most-loved brands, Sass & Bide is donating 100 per cent of its online sales on January 6 to WIRES Wildlife Rescue.

Shop it here.

Welle Co.

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CONSISTENCY IS KEY | It’s through consistency that we see results – just ask @ellemacphersonofficial, who says, “For me, three litres of water every day and two teaspoons of SUPER ELIXIR Greens is as routine as cleaning my teeth. Because I do it every single day without fail, I feel and see the results.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Today’s blitz up goes like this: 2 teaspoons SUPER ELIXIR Greens + 1 cup baby spinach + 1/4 fresh mint + 1 teaspoon matcha + 1/2 green apple (cut into cubes) + 2 cups coconut water. 🤤 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ #WelleCo #WelleIntentioned #BeautyTonic #BeWelle #GlowingSkin #SuperElixirGreens #Smoothie #WellenessTheAustralianWay #Greens

A post shared by WelleCo (@welleco) on Dec 23, 2019 at 2:30pm PST

Owned by supermodel Elle Macpherson, lifestyle brand Welle Co. is donating 100 per cent of the profits from its online sales (until January 7) to rural fire services around the country.

Shop it here.

If you don’t need anything else in your wardrobe but still want to donate, below are six links to some of the organizations helping to fight the bushfire crisis:

Red Cross

WIRES Wildlife Rescue

NSW Rural Fire Service

The Salvation Army 

WWF Koala Fund

Victoria Bushfire Disaster Appeal

The post 11 Australian Brands to Shop This Week to Help Support Bushfire Relief Efforts appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

11 Australian Brands to Shop This Week to Help Support Bushfire Relief Efforts published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

[gigsoupmusic]

OK Go - One big craziest thing we've ever done after another - Interview

OK Go is a band that needs no introduction. For over a decade, OK Go has been making waves across multiple artistic mediums. The Grammy award-winning group makes songs you will sing along with and music videos you will never forget. Whether they are dancing on treadmills, singing with The Muppets, or making music with cars OK Go inspires creativity. OK Go continues to show how music and art correlates with physics, math, and creativity with educational videos on okgosandbox.org/ and their new form of live show that is all ages and interactive. I had the chance to interview OK Go bass player and vocalist Tim Nordwind. We talked about the craziest thing he has done for the band, how a summer camp changed the course of his life, a possible OK Go ASMR video, where he keeps his grammy, and more. I'm with Tim Nordwind of OK Go, who plays bass and vocals; you are also a significant part of the artwork for the band. I'm excited to be talking to you because I have been watching videos and I feel like you do a lot of the really outrageous things in your videos. I saw you with a half-shaven face for the writing on the wall video, and I wanted to ask what is one of the craziest things you have done for the band? Tim Nordwind: That's a hard question to answer because every time we do a video, it always sort of feels like "oh this is the craziest thing we've done" then we do the next one, and it's like "no this is the craziest thing we've done" you know? I mean we have done videos in zero gravity, we've been launched in the air through paint, and I helped create a portrait of my face made out of junk, we've danced on treadmills, we've shot things in 2.3 seconds and slowed it down to make a 4-minute video. It's hard to pinpoint one; the whole experience is generally one big this is the craziest thing we've ever done to the next (laughs). https://youtu.be/LWGJA9i18Co That's incredible, and the story with OK Go is also amazing. You and Damian met at summer camp when you were eleven at an art camp. Is it crazy looking back that this summer camp sort of changed the course of your life? TN: Yeah, it is always crazy to think about that. It was at an art summer camp, and it's funny because that camp you can go there for theater, dance, and visual arts and things like that, but the main thing is music, and neither one of us was there for music. I think that was the beginning of this whole long journey that we've taken together, where it sort of like we were in a place where music was the thing, but we were allowed to come at it whatever way we wanted to. We have always been surrounded by music, but we've always been really into theater, and visual arts, and technology, and all these different things, and so from day one, we never thought that we have to do one thing. As we grew up into the music industry, there were moments where it seemed like oh well maybe we do only have to do one thing. But we were very relieved when the videos started doing well, like those first couple of videos of us dancing in backyard, us dancing on treadmills, and things like that we realized that those were the things that people were actually reacting to in a major way. So that was a relief because it was like well that is what we do normally anyway, that is how we have hung out with each other since we were eleven, is we make funny videos, and we bang on pianos and call it a song. So it came as a great relief to know that people really liked the things that we do as like friends. We haven't really looked back ever since. It gave us great confidence when we started to feel like people liked us for what we naturally do both musically and visually. So where you were participating in art in multiple mediums, when was it that you started making music together? TN: Damian and I definitely first bonded over music, we had a very wide spectrum of music that we were interested in. We both listened to everything from Run DMC to Les Misérables. It's like right when Run DMC was first coming out, and so hip hop and things like that were this very fresh and brand new thing. But then also, we were super into musical theater too (laughs). We were kind of all over the map, but we definitely really bonded over music. I think music, in general, is such an immediately satisfying format in the sense that, like sometimes even just the opening sound of a snare drum, it's like you know instantly you know what kind of mood you're in for. I think we've always been that kind of like a quick fix in a way when it comes to music. So we have always just been very, very curious about everything else in art and like in anything that seems curious in the world. That goes into science and math and all these different things. I guess we are just very curious people who like to make things. https://youtu.be/jxD_QQWyhCc With that interest in science and math, I watched some of the more educational video series for The Sandbox on your YouTube Channel. One of those was the Surrounding Sounds video, where you took random objects you were surrounded by like scissors, and tape, pens and pencils, and things like that. So the video was a few years old, and now there is the craze for ASMR, so I wondered if OK Go would ever do an ASMR video? (Laughs) TN: (Laughs) I definitely...sure. When I think of ASMR, I think of people close like eating pizza or something like that (laughs). I think it is kind of amazing, and I am somewhat obsessed with some ASMR videos. Especially head massage videos, which I'm not sure count as ASMR but I feel like it gives me the same sort of relaxed feeling. Have you ever seen the video under "Best Head Massage Ever" there's a guy who I think is in India and he has this little what feels like a trailer on a sidewalk where people step into, and he does the most amazing 10-15 minute head massages that I could just watch forever. Like someday I will make a pilgrimage to wherever that guy is. (Laughs) I think for like my 50th birthday I am going to find this guy and get this head massage. I haven't seen that but I'm excited to look. I have seen like the chubby baby face massages and that craze and those are fun too. TN: Well, that sounds like my next obsession, probably. If you look up "Worlds Greatest Head Massage," or I think maybe under the name of Baba Cosmic Barber. He does the massage like before he cuts their hair. But we haven't specifically thought about ASMR videos, but again it is something that like, in general, the way our process works we would be like "Wouldn't it be cool to make an ASMR video?" and then we would spend like 3-6 months really exploring what it would mean to make an ASMR video and whether or not you could make a compelling three and a half minute like visual music video where you can keep getting surprised every 10-15 seconds through ASMR. Or you start to think well ASMR is the base here but what else can you combine it with to keep things surprising and entertaining for three and a half minutes? And that really is at the end of the day is how we would think about it. People ask us all the time where we get the ideas for our videos, and it's not so much like where do we get the base idea for it, it's what happens once we get in that sandbox of whatever it is we decide to get into and start playing with it. The end result looks like we had a great idea but really what happened is that we played and played and played and experimented for usually a few months at a time until we had enough great things come out of that experimental process to kind of like stitch together to make the video. It's funny you ask that because like sure we could try that, and that would be the process. Then halfway through the process, we would probably either learn that we aren't the one to come up with the 10-15 surprises that you would need with ASMR, or we would learn that we are (laughs). https://youtu.be/QvW61K2s0tA What has been a place in your art that you have caught yourself in a wow moment like that you couldn't believe? TN: There have been a lot of times. I mean, we played Barack Obamas 50th Birthday Party, we did our choreographed dance routine for 'A Million Things' on top of a building in New York City on New Year's Eve in Times Square for like 2 million people, we met and made a video with the Muppets. That was actually on my list of questions, all these things your naming are all bullet points. It's so cool. TN: Yeah, like we won a Smithsonian Ingenuity Award in the company of like really amazing physicists and just crazy. It has taken us to places that we just never really dreamed of doing, and it's been incredible in that sense. https://youtu.be/m86ae_e_ptU If someone would have told you the success that you are having, especially success being genuinely yourself when you were coming up in Chicago, what would you have said? TN: Um, I mean, I don't know you have to be somewhat delusional in the first place to go after this kind of thing. I think I would have been surprised, but I would have been like, "okay, cool, that's awesome." That's what we hoped for ourselves. I think that the one thing that was most unexpected was that we would become known for something other than music, or that along with the music, we would be known for making music videos. That is something that we absolutely did not set out to do. We really, when we started in Chicago, were going at it like any other Indie-rock band in the country and in the world. We were looking for a label and trying to get on tour, that sort of stuff. If you told me then that what I'd be known for was the videos that would have meant like "Okay, so we're going to be huge on MTV?" That is the hardest thing to wrap my brain around would be that in a short amount of time there would be this brand new space where people go to live their lives online. Including where you do your shopping, banking, and socializing is also going to be your new space to create. That I think would have been like, "what the fuck are you talking about?" So I think that is the thing I'd be most surprised about. And the way that OK Go uses the space they have to create art is inspiring. What can you tell me about ways your videos have inspired people that has been unexpected? TN: Yeah, it's nice in the last several years now we get emails from teachers and parents who show their kids our videos to teach them a little something about physics, or math, or creativity, or whatever it is the particular videos are featuring. It has been nice because we started okgosandbox.org which is our sort of educational arm of what we do. It makes teaching tools for teachers to use in classrooms to help kids think about how math, science, creativity can all be as one. It doesn't have to be this textbook thing like you can use music to make really fun and awesome stuff. That is another thing I think if you told me in Chicago, in 1998, that like people would be using our videos to teach with I would be like "what are you talking about? Why would they be doing that?" (laughs) It is nice to see all of this evolve in ways that we couldn't have dreamt of, and sometimes in ways that we did dream of. A lot of our career has really been surprising. Really nice surprises that have come from the hard work we put into the things that we made. https://youtu.be/dTAAsCNK7RA What are the schedules and budgets like for these videos? TN: Most of the videos these days take about 3-6 months to make. They have been from like dirt cheap to incredibly expensive. Like think pretty expensive and that is what some of them have cost, then think like roughly $20-40, they have kind of gone all over the map. As we have gone on the ideas have gotten bigger and more ludicrous and it tends to be a higher budget affair. What can you tell me about the live video shows that OK Go is doing? TN: So the live video show is a bit more of a sort of cinematic and cultural experience rather than just a full-on rock show. We have been playing performance art centers around the country and it's basically a video retrospective that has rock show elements and theatrical elements. We play about twenty of our videos chronologically and stop every three of four to talk with the audience. There are some interactive moments where we play songs with the audience and it has been great. It is kind of like a new mode of show for us. The videos that existed online and our rock show we used to kind of keep those things separate from each other, at some point, we realized that it sort of seems like a missed opportunity to not show up and own the fact that we are the band that makes these videos and that we are going to take you through that experience of doing so. It has been super fun and it feels very appropriate where we are in our 21-year career. The show feels very modular and that we can keep adding to it as we make more music and make more videos and all of that. It has been really fun to do, and it is fun to talk to the kids in the audience. They usually have the weirdest and funniest questions (laughs). And there is thing number three that if you had told me in 1998 in Chicago that a bunch of kids would like what we are doing I wouldn't have believed you. Like we make music for 18-35-year-olds and that's what we know (laughs). https://youtu.be/47PDFwMcplw I have a question I ask in every interview and I love karaoke and I like to ask people that have performed on a number of stages if they do the small stage of karaoke and what their go-to song is? TN: Gosh you know it's funny, I used to love karaoke and then I played in a band and started to hate karaoke. I'm probably the rare person who there were periods of life where I would sing on stage sometimes 2-3 times a day or 180 days a year, so I didn't want to get up and sing in front of anyone, anymore (laughs). But my go-to songs back when I loved it were 'Take On Me' by a-ha or 'Total Eclipse of The Heart' by Bonnie Tyler which if you know it and can sell it will bring down the house every time. Where does OK Go keep their grammy? TN: Well we all have one, and I keep mine in my studio. Well, thank you, Tim. I really appreciate what you guys do and your time. This was a lot of fun. TN: Thank you so much. It was nice to talk to you. Follow OK Go on their website, Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. Read the full article

[kartiavelino]

This East Village barbershop is also a cutting-edge comedy club

On Friday nights, after all of the hair’s been swept off the ground and the final comb dropped into the jar of Barbicide, folks type a line exterior the Unique Barbershop within the East Village. And so they’re not ready round for a haircut. By 8:45, the largely millennial crowd settles in among the many swivel stools, wood benches and folding chairs as comic Ronnie Lordi switches on a mike to open “Dwell on the Barbershop” — one of many metropolis’s extra offbeat comedy golf equipment. “Phrase is getting round,” says Carl Anthony, 40, of Astoria, who’s been coming to the barbershop no less than a few times a month for the final three years, however not for a trim. A comedy devotee who sees some 20 to 30 comedy exhibits a yr, the tv stage supervisor tells The Publish, “This lineup might rival many comedy golf equipment.” Credit score Lordi for dreaming it up. In 2016, he was getting a trim in a kind of barber chairs on the Unique (174 E. Second St.), when he seen the store — spiffy, however customary, so far as barbershops go — had all of the makings of a good comedy venue. “That would really be a stage,” Lordi thought, referring to a shallow black platform upon which the vainness mirrors sit. “And there’s the stereotypical brick wall behind it.” He informed store proprietor Greg Sysoyev that he was a comic, and Sysoyev requested him if he and a few comedian-friends might carry out at a store get together on quick discover. Completely happy to oblige, Lordi stated: “Wherever I can get onstage.” With that, a grass-roots comedy present started. “We requested eating places and companies across the neighborhood [to donate] chairs,” says Lordi. The 2 males introduced in a mike and amp, and arrange a desk of mixers and cups for many who deliver their very own booze. “You are able to do comedy wherever. All you want is a microphone and seats.” Barbershop fixtures are reconfigured to create a non permanent stage.Stefano Giovannini Lordi, who’s produced and hosted “Dwell on the Barbershop” each Friday at 8:30 p.m. for the final three years, manages to squeeze some 25 to 40 company and comedians into the shop, generally squeezing two units into a night time. He says he has no concept how phrase bought round. “There’s been little or no advertising and marketing,” he says. “I simply put a signal within the window.” (There’s also a Site: GreatestShowEver.com.) “I run a basement present at a wine bar,” says comic Hanna Dickinson, whose exhibits are sometimes listed in magazines and on-line, “however we don’t have the traction this barbershop does.” Admission charges decrease than these of the established comedy golf equipment might assist: Entry is $7 for those who RSVP forward of time, and $10 on the door, if there’s room. On a latest night time, Lordi asks the viewers how they heard in regards to the present. A couple of shout again “Instagram.” Web searches are also worthwhile promoters. Kyra, 22, who declined to present her final identify, says she got here with a pal who merely “Googled ‘B.Y.O.B. comedy present.’ ” Lordi normally performs a fast opening set earlier than introducing the primary of some 5 – 6 comics a night time. To this point, the shock company have included Judah Friedlander (“30 Rock”), Roy Wooden Jr. (“The Every day Present”) and Dante Nero (“The Blacklist”). Barbershop proprietor Greg Sysoyev works on buyer Chase Desmond’s hair.Stefano Giovannini It’s a coveted gig amongst comics, too. “I’ve had established comics ask me who to speak to about getting up [onstage],” says comic Justin Smith, 32. In contrast to conventional comedy golf equipment, the Unique Barbershop doesn’t have desk service, which could be distracting for comedians, whereas dear drinks and tab minimums are a buzzkill for company. Right here, comedy lovers deliver their very own bottles, and the small room lets them sit mere ft from the motion. “Since laughing is contagious, comedy is simply higher in an intimate setting,” says comic Ian Lara, 28. “It simply makes the laughter explosive.” The laid-back setting also lends itself to workshopping. “It’s a nice gauge,” says comic Dean Delray, 52. “If [a joke] is working in there, it’s most likely going to work throughout America,” he provides. “It’s like a dojo.” The demographic is primarily 20-somethings, what Delray refers to as “the longer term” of stand-up followers. However, the uber-hip crowd could be intimidating. “I by no means know if it’s a comedy present or a Vice firm get together,” says comic Usama Siddiquee. “I get nervous performing there as a result of there’s a lot of sizzling, younger individuals who I really feel like would have been imply to me in center faculty,” says Dickinson, 26, who believes the present resonates with faculty college students and millennials due to the “speakeasy” vibe. “It’s a ‘scene.’ ” Lordi, who performs at different golf equipment six or seven nights a week, says he and Sysoyev see no finish in sight for the barbershop collection. “My clients, the entire neighborhood, they adore it,” says Sysoyev, 32. “We’ve got room for everybody!” Lordi says he hopes to sooner or later hand off the present to a youthful technology of comics. Proper now, he and his mates are having too good a time to stroll away.“Should you’re onstage having enjoyable, it sort of units the tone for the present. That’s been the concept from the start. On the finish of the day, it’s a cling.” The Unique Barbershop’s low-key exterior hides a blossoming comedy club.Stefano Giovannini Outsider nyuks: different offbeat comedy spots Anybody Comics This Brooklyn bookstore hosts Sizzling Fuss, a new month-to-month comedy present that takes place Saturdays at 7:30 p.m. The BYOB occasion sells out, so purchase tickets on-line upfront. $10. 1216 Union St., Crown Heights; AnyoneComics.com Vspot Natural This East Village wholesome eatery is also house to Brickspot Comedy, which works down in a renovated again room on the restaurant. They’ve a common collection, Late Evening Romp, Fridays at 9 p.m., plus one-off exhibits all through the month. Free entry; one-item-order minimal. 12 St. Marks Place; BrickspotComedy.com Work Heights Crown Heights’ personal membership-based co-working enterprise Work Heights presents Electrical Laughs at 7:30 p.m. each first Saturday of the month. The 21-and-up present also guarantees loads of free “Magic Punch Shock.” No official phrase on what the “shock” entails. Free; RSVP required. 650 Franklin Ave., Crown Heights; ElectricLaughs.Tumblr.com Don’t Inform Comedy This roving collection of secret exhibits is produced in main cities everywhere in the nation. New York’s version has placed on stand-up in backyards, rooftops and even a Brooklyn motorbike store. $20 and up. DontTellComedy.com/NYC Share this: https://nypost.com/2019/01/18/this-east-village-barbershop-is-also-a-cutting-edge-comedy-club/ The post This East Village barbershop is also a cutting-edge comedy club appeared first on My style by Kartia. https://www.kartiavelino.com/2019/01/this-east-village-barbershop-is-also-a-cutting-edge-comedy-club.html

[sentrava]

Real Talk: Why Fraser McGuinness Traded Rock Star Life for a Barber Shop

Sitting across from a sepia image of Queen Elizabeth II, Fraser McGuinness wryly concedes that his barbershop’s kitschy furnishing mostly evoke tongue-in-cheek references to his Scottish identity. But scratch a little deeper than his irreverent humor, and you’ll find fixtures that hint to a past far removed from the business of cutting hair.

Back in 2008, Fraser was on the precipice of signing a career-defining record deal with Black Arc. During the previous ten years, he’d fostered his talents as a singer and guitarist on exhaustive tours with minor British alternative acts. Yet when presented with this major new contract, he was filled with foreboding.

“We’re in the lawyer’s office,” McGuinness recalls. “He’s a huge lawyer for the Rolling Stones and stuff, and he says, ‘We need to get everything out on the table. Are there any problems in the band?’ And everyone else is going, ‘it’s all good’. And I’m sitting there thinking: ‘no, it’s not.’”

McGuinness had been parachuted into the group to concoct original material, and during the nights he slept and wrote in the studio, he became attuned to the personal issues and disagreements rife among its members. Heeding his misgivings, he accepted another offer to tour as a technician with Danish band Alphabeat, who had just released their hit “Fascination”.

“I didn’t listen to pop music at all at that point; I only listened to, like, post-rock,” admits McGuinness.” [But], these guys were really young, super fresh, and I signed up and did the gigs cause I was like, ‘fuck the band! I’m going to do this.’ And I don’t ever regret that – ever.”

The three years McGuinness spent on the road with the Silkeborg outfit were antithetical to the “brutal” conditions that had characterized his past life in the industry. “Every gig we did was an absolute party,” he remembers. “The energy was crazy.”

But new ties to Denmark also flowed from this work, and after moving to Copenhagen in 2010, McGuinness landed a role with one of the country’s foremost electronic acts: Trentemøller. Starting out as a technician once again, he caught a break when he was asked to play bass for the group mid-way through a tour.

“My first gig was in front of, at least, 25,000 people; it was a festival called Sziget in Budapest,” McGuinness recollects. “We hadn’t really rehearsed together. I had just gone and learned the songs and come back. So everyone was a bit like, ‘Can he do it?’”

A seamless set and two encores later, he had solidified his place as a mainstay performer on consecutive tours that followed. “I did both jobs,” McGuinness shows. “I was the tech, and I was the bass player. And that was good because we got to tour the world… It was North America, Central America, a lot in Europe, and Australia.”

  Yet after two years traversing the globe in his “dream job”, he was ready to quit. “I was sitting there in a bus touring the world going, ‘Man, wonder what it would be like to go home every day,’” reveals McGuinness. “And that appealed to me because I felt it was a bit of an empty existence.”

Tired of this transient, hedonistic lifestyle, he looked for a new profession which could sustain a more rooted living situation – striking upon barbering. “I remember thinking, ‘well, people always need haircuts.’ And when I looked into it, there was a lot of things that I could get from being a barber.”

McGuinness opened his shop in the Nørrebro neighborhood of Copenhagen in September 2015, and it has been booked solid ever since. His success hasn’t simply rested on mastering various cuts. Rather, his intimate ruminations with clients regarding their relationships, family life, and manhood have become a key stock-in-trade.

  “A lot of men don’t feel like they can have those conversations, and therefore they don’t want them,” McGuinness explains. “But when it comes to a barbershop where they’re nice and comfortable and relaxed, and they can’t go anywhere – and I’ve got a knife,” he intones with a wink, “then they can have that conversation.”

This outlet for meaningful dialogue has been a mainstay in his shop’s walls, and McGuinness plans to launch a running club in 2019 with his customers’ needs in mind. Their ability to candidly confide comes primarily from the sense of detachment cultivated at his recently renovated Møllegade premises.

“I offer someone an amount of time away from their real life,” says McGuinness. “So you don’t have to be at home with the kids or the girlfriend or a mother or a father; they’re not at work, and they’re not at the pub with their mates – or wherever they go.”

“And I’ve customers that have cried in here – like, multiple broke down,” he continues. “And that’s why I don’t just feel like I’m hypothesizing right now. I’ve experienced some of this.”

A far cry from the stage and clapping of adoring fans, McGuinness has consciously repudiated the superficial encounters and ephemeral flattery that he grew to despise during his touring years. Instead, his cutting services act as a conduit for honest, often vital forms of human connection, in which both he and his male clients regularly find solace.

  Fraser The Barber

Møllegade 8A 2200 København N

Opening Hours: Tues – Fri 10:00 am – 6:00 pm Sat 10:00 am – 3:00 pm Sun & Mon Closed

Images by Douglas Whitbread

Real Talk: Why Fraser McGuinness Traded Rock Star Life for a Barber Shop published first on https://medium.com/@OCEANDREAMCHARTERS

[ultraairconditioning-blog]

A Great Haircut for Men Is Not All That Simple

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