Much has been written about the relationship between a man and his barber. Barbershops are often portrayed as social hubs where gossip and advice are meted out in equal measure.
I prefer to socialize on my own time. When I go for a haircut, I just want to relax. Quietly. And when the mirror comes out, I want to love what I see.
Truefitt and Hill positions itself as the barber to British royalty, but don't come here expecting stiff, formal service. A procession works the reception desk, while Rick the owner gladhands you on your way in.
I admit, I'm fussy when it comes to my hair. It grows in all directions and thus requires a bit of maintenance. I work in a professional office, so I can't go too crazy. A while ago I read an article about the 'perfect haircut', and I stick to a variation on the theme. Too long and I might as well apply to play drums for the Roots. Too short and I look like a baby chicken. I hate seeing scalp.
Rick executes this request with varying effectiveness. On one visit I get exactly what I paid for, and a relaxing Shiatsu massage to boot. On another visit I feel like a shorn sheep, assuming you varnish sheep with copious amounts of hair gel (next to scalp, I hate hair products more than anything about the barber experience).
The haircut may be expensive, but the wisdom (at least from the owner's perspective) is priceless. Customers may be less than thrilled with his opining on dating, relationships, sex, his marriage, your workplace, his income tax, provincial, federal and municipal politics, etc. From the moment you walk in the door, he chats you up like a long-lost friend.
He's a decent guy, but I wouldn't mind toning down the volume.