To date, I love this place, but under no circumtances should you get your haircut in Argentina. The mullet is alive and well here, and Argentine barbers are doing very weird things with layering down here (insert future photo essay).
Many of you know, I´m not sensitive about my ¨hair,¨ just particular. For the past six years through August 2004, I was getting my haircut at the Shell Barbershop in San Francisco. Every two weeks, Bruno and I had a standing date. Over these six years, Bruno only gave me two bad haircuts. The first was in the beginning of our relationship, during the dotcom boom, when he gave me what I later discovered were ¨wagon wheels¨ (an unnecessary space between one´s ears and hair). The second bad cut came a year or so later - just a month before my sister´s wedding - when Bruno shaved my head nearly bald. In his defense, it was my dumb-ass idea and one he tried to talk me out of. So as you can see, Bruno has been my hair anchor, producing nearly 300 consistent and reliable cuts on my head, which is no small accomplishment.
Back in Argentina, there are some dangers an expat faces, but little did I know getting a haircut would be one of them. My name is Chris Burns and I had my first bad haircut in Buenos Aires three weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I went to another barber for a reconstructive haircut, which failed miserably. And the other night, after a few drinks, I broke out the scissors in my bathroom and tried a little home repair. The ¨system,¨ as it is commonly referred to, has seen better days. Now, slightly deformed, I long for the touch of Bruno, his ability, and his compassion -- not just viewing you as another head of hair, but truly seeing you, the person, beneath that hair.
I should mention that some expat friends had shared their own bad haircut horror stories, but I failed to heed their warnings. Please, don´t make the same mistake.
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