A few of you have been following the chronicles of my good friend Mike's transformation from Average Joe to Joe the Stunner (sorry, Joe the Plumber. Much like a certain much-ballyhooed $150,000 wardrobe, your time in the spotlight is quickly being eclipsed by more important puns). Heh. Get it?
...And while I do put myself in stitches with those clever turns of phrase, I'll get to the point for the rest of you who are undoubtedly rolling your eyes right now (it's a tough crowd, kid). Mike has been commenting for awhile that his hairstyle had gone from charmingly hirsute to completely bothersome in a very short amount of time. While I will admit to often being nearly blinded by the shiny perfection of Mike's mane (even utterly mesmerized by its preternaturally perfect swoop), I had to agree with him that he was going to awfully great lengths to bring Fabio hair back in style.
(STITCHES, people. This is solid gold comedic nuggets you're privy to on this blog, and may I just say, YOU'RE WELCOME.)
We went back and forth a few times about the best way to go about accomplishing this haircut, from Mike's Fantastic Sam's suggestion to my way-out-of-his-budget insistence to use my stylist Scott (though, seriously, he is the best. I'd sing his praises all day and night, so if you're looking for an upgrade and don't mind spending more than $10 [but less than $50], let me know. I'll put you in touch with him). In the end, we decided that neither super budg, super spendy nor super trendy (Rudy's Barber Shop) were quite right for Goldilocks Posey. The decision was made while floating on a blissful cloud of Pinot Noir that we would return to earth and do the job ourselves - Jody and I - for free. Jody has cut girls' hair previously and even has the fancy scissors for it, but I, while possessing a steely resolve for executing my "vision," have no haircutting experience whatsoever.
But when has that ever stopped me, you ask? Never! Never ever!
We paged through my back issues of GQ and Details in search of pictorial evidence of my harebrained idea (or shall I say, hairbrained? I think I just split a seam laughing this time, folks), and finally settled on something I like to call the "European Male Model" look. Mike foolishly placed enough trust for every hair on his head in our eager hands and we started snipping away, first Jody while I muttered harassments from the Peanut Gallery (and quickly clammed up after Mike called my long johns "unbecoming"), then me while Jody fiddled with the CD player. All the while Mike was sanguine, wincing only when I nearly sliced into his ear one time. Or maybe it was two times.
Against all odds, the gods of Vidal Sassoon must have been feeling rather generous and took a quick break from feathering Euro mullets across the heavenly realms to smile down upon us. At the end of the day, Mike's freebie hair upgrade turned out to be the right decision and I've officially added "hair maverick" to my resumé.