Yesterday, finding myself with a couple of spare hours in Newtown, that trendy inner western suburb of Sydney, I thought I would grab a quick haircut.

Now if you are male and were born in  the 1950’s or 60’s then your barbers name was either Joe or Lou and for a very small fee you could have a choice or either the college cut or short back and sides. The barbers shop typically had a picture or two of some snappy looking Italian Lothario, probably Valentino, with slicked down hair and a winning smile. The shop, apart from cutting hair also provided a range of ancillary products for the would-be Valentino, such as combs, brushes, cigarettes and smoking accessories and of course bulk containers of Brylcream. Because everyone worked during the week Saturday morning was the peak period. The horse races would be on the radio and periodically Joe would yell in his Italian/Australian dialect “whosa nexta” (this was essential to the running of the business as there were no appointments).

I’m not saying I was looking for a Joe or Lou like experience in Newtown, in fact I have been quite comfortable having Viktoria (with a K) snipping away at my thinning grey hair for some time now. Even the twenty dollars strikes me as reasonable considering the entertainment value. Phrases such as “and she was all like”,  “you know?” and “Oh-my-god” always leave me a little amused or is it bemused.

Am I ready for the Newtown haircut…… probably not. With shop names like “hairzilla”, “frankencuts” and “scissorhands” I am a little put off. The offer to transform my hair with dreadlocks appealed to me for less than a nanosecond even at the bargain price of some fifty dollars.

Speaking of dollars I was quite entertained by the range of fees. Some salons or studios, for they are no longer simple barbers or even hair dressers, advertise hair cuts from twenty dollars while others mention “hair sculpting” with the initial “consultation” with the “head sculptor” costing as much as two hundred and ninety dollars and follow up “sculpting” a bargain at one hundred and thirty five dollars. Cruising King street I selected a few of the friendlier looking establishments and endeavored to discover if …1. I could get a simple haircut and 2. How much of my hard earned capital I would have to part with to secure the aforementioned service. Needless to say the responses were varied , they deserve a mention.

Salon No.1

Me. “Afternoon, do you do boring old style haircuts here?”

Sculptor. “Not today.”

Me. “Tomorrow?”

Sculptor. “After 10, busy today.”

Salon No.2

Me. “Any chance of a haircut?”

Purple Mohawk. (points at chair)  “siddown”

Me. “Whats the cost?”

Purple Mohawk. “Depends what you want.”

Me. “Just a simple haircut?”

Purple (we are on first name terms now), “No such thing as a simple haircut.”

Me. (walking out) “Thanks anyway.”

Salon No.3

Me. “How much for a simple no frills haircut, no braiding, sculpting, mohawking, dreadlocking, blow drying, shampooing, wood carving, or any other of the other extra stuff. Just a haircut.”

Short dressed in black woman. “Roger, whats he talking about?”

Roger. “What do you want exactly?”

Me. “I want you to cut of the hair that has grown on my head over the last five or so weeks. We are talking maybe 2.5 centimeters of hair over the entire cranial region, forget anything on the face and stop when you get to the neck. Using a combination of comb, scissors, clippers and a degree of manual dexterity I would hazard a guess and say about 15 minutes of your time and hopefully none of my epidermis.”

Joe. “Thirty five maybe forty dollars or a bit more…  see how it goes you know?”

Me. “Not really… thanks anyway.”

Salon No.4

Me. “Do Joe or Lou work here?”

Proprietor. “Who?”

Well I didn’t get a haircut but I am richer for the experience. I miss old Joe and Lou a little but in hindsight the choice of two hairstyles was a little restrictive and everyone did look the same from the back. I think I am now much happier with Viktoria with a K as my new Joe. If only she could speak like Chico Marx.

MOHAWK…Harry, your doing it wrong!