At Least Every 204 Days!

Haircuts are an administrative tax on existence. Left to commercial default, society expects a man to climb into a swivel chair every three weeks, endure pointless banter about the forecast, and pay handsomely to have microscopic shavings swept off his collar.

My formula is non-negotiable: twice a year. If a major royal wedding or an unexpected court appearance arises, I might concede to a third, but that is the absolute perimeter. The engineering is simple enough. Raze the sides down to the skull with a no. 0.5 clipper attachment, anchor what remains on top into a ponytail, and allow biology six full months to crawl back.

The execution, however, depends entirely on the latitude.

The Jungle Outpost: February 26th

On our final afternoon in Sri Lanka before boarding the night flight to Hong Kong and heading home to BC for the summer, I took a ten-minute walk from Jay's house to a tiny newly opened shop. The setup was brilliant: a hand-painted elephant watching over the room, an oscillating fan fighting the tropical heat, an open doorway looking straight into the lush greenery, and a couple of cheerful blokes holding the clippers. Total expenditure, tip included: 500 Sri Lankan Rupees. That converts to approximately CA$ 2.11.

After the SkyTrain Station: Today

Two hundred and four days later, a bit late in scheduling, the noggin demanded attention. This morning required boarding the SkyTrain for a single stop, stepping into the quick-turnaround barber inside New West station, and sitting in a vinyl chair while the clippers buzzed through the exact same routine. Then back up to the balcony to inspect the perimeter.

The technical result is identical: pristine geometry, exposed scalp, and zero required maintenance until early spring. The fiscal balance, however, is absurd. Today's commuter trim ran about fourteen times the price of the jungle cut, proving once again that florescent lighting and Skytrain vibrations carry a substantial markup over coconut trees and an open breeze.