Raymond on The science of male grooming is far from being ‘settled’.
During a recent visit to a Turkish barber, I made a startling discovery which I hope may lead to me being recognised as having made a significant contribution to the science of grooming. Like most folk, I believed that the science had been more or less settled since the mid-seventies, when Jorge Silva’s ground-breaking ‘The hermeneutics of grooming’ was published. Silva’s research established that there were six recognisable stages on the ‘male haircut’ continuum:
Passive → Larval → Peacock → Business → Utilitarian → Topiary
The ‘passive’ phase encompasses the childhood years, when the male has no awareness of his hair and all responsibilities for grooming fall upon his mother. The second (or ‘larval’) phase begins when the young male becomes self-conscious and is, as Silva puts it, ‘quite fussy’ about his appearance.
Stage three (the peacock phase) has been the subject of most academic attention. Gilligan and Porter’s influential paper on ‘The Hair Delusion’ (Oxford Tonsorial Review, 1991) observed that, during the peacock phase, a young man “may spend as much as one third of his income on hair products and spend as much as one hour getting his hair just ‘right’ for a night out.” During my own peacock phase, I was known to experiment with colours, lengths and -sadly- accoutrements. I do not exaggerate when I say that my ‘Mick Hucknall’ period is itself worthy of a psychological case study.
Stage four, the ‘business phase’, evolves over a much longer period (some males can take as long as 15-20 years to make the transition) and, because of where it sits on the continuum, there can be a certain amount of ‘crossover’ between the stage it follows (the peacock) and the stage it precedes (the utilitarian).
According to Waldorf, Sanchez and McPhail, professors of Hair, Nails and Beauty at the University of Wisconsin, the average male, “having lingered in the hinterland of his peacock days, will make the inexorable graduation, first to the business stage (in which he seeks best value for a good haircut) and then to the utilitarian, in which he will pay the minimal price at any venue (within the parameters of established norms) for a haircut.” Note the absence of an adjectival descriptor for the haircut in that second definition.
The Wisconsin team devised a simple equation to express the concept of customer satisfaction, which they believed delineated precisely the boundaries of this crossover period between the business and utilitarian phases:
P = T x A ÷S/N
where
P = acceptable price
A = aesthetic considerations
N = likelihood of negative reaction to haircut
T = willingness to invest time
S = sundry considerations (e.g. location, weather, chattiness of staff etc. )
Not all experts agree about the existence of an extended crossover period; you may recall the huge twitter row last year when Stephen Fry controversially stated that the difference between the business and the utilitarian period was so minuscule as to be ‘hardly worth the bother’, leading the international stylist John Frieda to describe him as a “preening jackanapes with all the insight of stale suet pudding.”
Until my recent startling discovery, I believed (like most of us, I’d imagine) that the fifth, or utilitarian, stage had but one offshoot, namely that sixth (topiary) phase, the first to include trimming activities beyond the mere head of hair. I call this the “shall I do those eyebrows for you, sir?” phase, as those were the exact words put to me during a quick visit to a handy boutique in the summer of 2008. In existential terms, entering the topiary phase can be a defining moment, the point at which the mature gentleman is faced with the realisation that he has reached an age characterised by what Camus called “the ineffable desolation of eyebrow unruliness.” After the initial feelings of shock, desolation, shame and existential despair, I had more or less settled into the “shall I do those eyebrows for you, sir?” stage. I was reasonably content that my journey along the tonsorial continuum had reached its comfortable terminus.
Until, that is, my recent visit to the Turkish barber.
After I had given my usual simple instructions (a ‘two’ at the back and sides and chop a bit off the top please), I sat back and relaxed, expecting nothing other than a pleasantly brief grooming hiatus in an otherwise uneventful Saturday morning.
Suddenly, and with no prior announcement, the barber took a small set of clippers and applied them to my eyebrows AND MY EARS. Further, he did this WITHOUT EVEN ASKING. After the initial shock, the realisation dawned that I was in uncharted territory: a new point on the haircut continuum. The barber had decided that my need for eyebrow and ear trimming was so pronounced, so obvious, that he had no need to consult me. There was, for him, no question to be asked, no debate to be had. ‘This guy’s eyebrows and ears are getting it,’ he must have thought. In Turkish.
As I sat there considering the enormity of what had just transpired, it occurred to me that this is what Archimedes must have felt like as he sat in his bath and invented the Isosceles triangle. This was a game-changer. Accordingly, I have written to the Royal Tonsorial Society to suggest that some further research be carried out in order to establish the exact conditions and boundaries of this seventh point on the grooming continuum. I’d like to think that, in recognition of my contribution to the advancement of science, they may even allow me to name it.
Upon consideration, I believe that the ‘acknowledged overgrowth’ stage has quite a nice ring to it.
Addendum:
I am aware that this subject has the potential to cause follicle offence and would not wish my admittedly hair-centric approach to upset any friends and colleagues in the bald community. There are many fine works available on baldness, among which I would thoroughly recommend Brandon Linklater’s excellent six-volume work ‘Depilation Row: male baldness and the 60s counter-cultural narrative.’
Fantastic! Great writing. I hesitate to add more sundry clippings and trimmings to the floor around the base of your fine hair piece.
What, no flaming gauze bashed onto the ears for the final burn-off? You ain’t seen nothing yet. A rather scary experience, but always slightly thrilling.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3z6_kz_wOU
Liam Gallagher’s let himself go…
Funniest post yet in our new home. Have an up, Raymond!
It’s Freddie Jones as Thufir Hawat in Dune
Do I win a prize?
For a moment, I thought it was Harry H. Corbett in Carry On Screaming…
Great post!
I’m a big fan of Turkish Barbers. They’re a major player in helping men of a certain age look amazing.
But I’m Less than convinced that female grooming would benefit from actual flames…. Eek ❤️
Made me laugh a lot, thanks Raymond.
My peacock phase lasted nearly all of a Monday morning after I turned up at school with a fairly convincing Howard Jones and got laughed at so universally that the headmaster had to interrupt assembly to shut them up.
After that I went straight to Utilitarian, and have remained there ever since, the only criteria for haircuts now being that there should be no one queuing when I get there, because that would mean having to pretend to read an ancient issue of GQ for ten minutes, and that the barber (not stylist) should have no interest in, or professional duty to enquire about, whether I’ve been anywhere nice this year.
Another reason for going to a Turkish barber; a language barrier can be a wonderful thing, so long as they can grasp ‘Number three at the back and sides and about an inch off the the top, thanks.’
I remember an early visit to the barber I use now where, at the end of the haircut, I was asked, ‘Eesharigoot?’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Eeshar … Ee Goot?’ ‘I’m sorry, I don’t …’ He put his fingers on my scalp and raised the hair to show how much had been cut off. ‘Ees … short, ees … goot?’ ‘Oh, I see! Yes. Yes, thanks. The short is good.’
I found out on my last visit that a particular barber’s shop does shaves. I would love to go for the whole shaving foam applied with a brush, warm towel, cutthroat razor experience, but am too much of a wuss about the open-bladed razor bit. Sweeney Todd awaits, I fear!
By coincidence, I visited the local Turkish barber for the first time yesterday. Not only did he do my eyebrows but shaved inside my ears with a cutthroat. Most unnerving.
That was brilliantly funny Raymond. Looking forward to showing Mr andielou as he’ll certainly relate to this!
Why is everyone commenting in italics? It is italics, isn’t it? Well, what font is it? And why am I not commenting in italics? It’s a clique. and I’m excluded. Well, thank you SO much! (very amusing post, though, Raymond.
You have to tilt your head like yer man Freddie up there.
I have a lady barber. She’s very good. She takes her time, even though I have no hair to speak of. She never adjusts the height of the chair correctly. As a result, her breasts often press against my shoulders as she reaches for whisp on the other side of my head. I’d have my hair cut every week if I could but it takes some weeks for sufficient sprouting to occur. I wonder if there is another hair grooming category where it is a displacement for other comforting needs? If that’s the case, I’ve been in that stage since going bald aged 21.
Tiggs, she knows exactly what she’s doing with the height of the chair. That’s pure marketing gold there, better than a loyalty card.
My local establishment of choice – The Nuthoose – always do the ears and eyebrows. I’m kind of used to it now, however I do feel that the onset of hairy ears was rather skirted over during ‘Living and Growing’ at school.
Having my ear and nasal hair plaited next week (this is to hark back to my peacock days).
Smashing post. I used to piss about for years, booking appointments at salons for essentially unchanging haircuts. Very much the same as in the OP; two at the back and sides, squared off and tight trim on the top,
My wife not unreasonably pointed out that any barber possessing two hands and pair of scissors could do that for me anywhere on the planet. A couple of years ago I tentatively joined a queue of blerks in a grubby barbers. Lo! Within 15 mins I’d had the best, most, yes I’ll say it ‘stylish’ cut I’d had in years. For a third of what I had become used to paying.
And yes, they trim my ears and eyebrows as a matter of course. I love it.
You were missing out on one of the great advantages of being a bloke. Instead of agonising about your hair, living in fear of the one ‘stylist’ who ‘really understands it’ leaving and so on, we can just look in the barber’s window once every couple of months, pop in if there isn’t a queue, and emerge 20 or so minutes later with shorter hair and our wallets a tenner lighter (and don’t forget to have a quid or two in change for the guy who actually cut your hair*). Of course there is also the risk that all our hair is going leave instead, but them’s the odds.
* In a discussion about barbers down the pub a couple of years ago a mate confessed that he had never tipped a barber in his life. ‘That could explain a lot,’ I replied. Come to think of it, he shows up at the pub a lot less often these days.
I have been asked more than once by concerned souls if my hair is cut by the council.
I go to my local barber’s, I’m the youngest customer by a good 25 years. They haven’t updated the decor in 30 years, they take cash only, and their till is from the 1960s.
But they cut it well, offer shaves, trim the eyebrows, and they also have a guy who will shine your shoes while you wait.
They will continue having my custom for a long time.
My Dad used to take me to Tom’s, in Ebrington Street, Plymouth, in the last years of the 1950s. The shop had a shiny red and white pole at a jaunty angle outside, with the word “Barber” along the side. Tom had two of those lovely red upholstered aluminium framed hydraulic chairs. I used to sit on a plank across the arms of one of them. The shop smelled of brylcreem and gentleman’s cologne. There was always “something for the weekend” in a handy dispenser on the counter, though I didn’t yet realise what that meant. Tom always greeted my Dad by name with a smile – Dad had been a regular since he was a nipper himself. Manly conversation ensued that passed me by as I eagerly read the News Of The World or one of the other salacious and scurrilous weeklies that were there for browsing while you waited. I don’t recall Tom having another barber working with him; he worked both chairs simultaneously, expertly moving from one to the other depending upon the customer’s demands, and never rushing anyone or anything. My Dad had a short cut with a jaunty quiff he could slick back, and always took a proper hot towel shave. Afterwards he smelled fantastic, and his face was velvet smooth when he picked me up and hugged me. We would walk back from Tom’s, me fingering the razor-cut shortness on the nape of my neck, and always hoping that the little sweetshop near the side entrance to Beaumont Park would be open, and that maybe we’d drop in for a treat on the way back up the hill towards home.