The Barbershop

I am going Nostalgia again...

Remember the scent of soap and talc, mixed with the smell of rusted steel and rotten wood? Remember the outdated magazine and Old Master Q comic you flipped through while waiting for you turn? Remember the lightness you felt after a good trim? Well, that was the barbershop of our childhood.

This barbershop, was always filled with grumpy men. Complaining about politics, aimlessly flipping through newspapers, talking on how close they are in winning yesterday's jackpot lottery, reminiscing about the good old glory days and hiding from their wives. But was never there to trim their hair. All in the midst of noise from the TV nobody watches and oldies on the radio nobody listens. And that was the barbershop, we grew up with.

Remember then when hairstyle was recognized through numbers? "Uncle, today number one!" And you will come out looking like a monk. Or if you are up for it, you can choose your hairstyle based on a few poster of famous pop star of that time like Aaron Kwok, Andy Lau or Jacky Cheung, pasted all over the wall. But was rare to see your hair turned out like theirs and left you wonder what magic they possessed to make them look that good! And that was the barbershop, of dreams being handsome, broken.

Remember the small wooden platform the barber place under your feet when you was in his throne? Then he wrapped a big cloth and clipped it annoyingly around your neck, while you kept pulling the cloth to make yourself comfortable. As stiff as a rock you will be whenever you saw the barber holding his scissors, while you silently prayed that you would not get cut. You then will be rewarded with a few swap of cold soap on your neck and face for later shaving. Then comes the comforting talc and a few slap with his trusty towel, to get you off the throne. And that was a real barber, that enjoy what he does. 

This barbershop, was where you go trim with you dad. With his large hand on your shoulder, you anxiously look and count how many person and time will pass until it was your turn. In the meantime, your dad chats with the chaps, and always asked you to go before him to the barber's throne. And when it was his turn, you always hated the long silent wait for him to finish. After he do, you looked at the mirror with him. You felt ever closer and even more similar with one another. And that was the barbershop, that bond a father and his son.

Barbershop then, was never about blasting Pop music, but good old Cantonese drama. It was never about that awful smell of hairspray, but the smell of everybody 'manly' scent. It was never about hairstylist with outrageous hairstyles and tight fitting jeans. But a middle age man, cleanly cut, fitted with simple polo tee and slack. It was never a wallet thinner, but giving a small fee for an experience.

Lastly, it was never to be the same again, but will always be remembered.

My childhood barbershop at Pandamaran and barber, Mr. Kok Chi.

Live Well People,
Shian.