Growing up with a hairstylist as a mother, haircuts have always been something special and particularly emotional. Some of my favorite memories of my mother are those in her salon, with my head over the cold, porcelian ledge as she washes my hair with her hands. Like feeding a baby bird or washing a diciple's dirty soles, it is an act that is so humble and neccessary--to maintain the body of someone you love. To this day, everytime I have my hair cut, even just a trim, I cry.
This week, Brian needed a haircut, and because he didn't want anything more than a buzz and we didn't want to spend over fifty dollars in a Manhattan salon, we took matters into our own hands. We bought clippers from the drugstore, set up the chair in the living room, turned on music, and that was that. You can judge my success for yourself, but we like the results.
Photos and Text by Ash Adams
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