The Lion, the Witch and the Haircut

October 10, 1998


Many of us have talents. These talents remain hidden until, through true necessity, they are unveiled to the surprise of many whom thought they knew us. Sometimes though, it’s in our best interest to hide them. So it happened when my roommate was complaining about not having any money. I’m sure you’re familiar with the stereotype of “the poor student.” It’s a classic.
“Man, I don’t have any money. My job sucks, tuition is insane, prices are crazy…” and you know the rest. Having heard enough of his sniveling, I told my roommate he shouldn’t continue complaining about having to shell out ten bucks for a haircut, I would cut his hair. “You can cut hair?” he asked.
“And I’ll do it for free.” His disbelief vanished quickly and he was in a chair at once. The word “free” has a strange power on people. When mentioned around college students in particular, it can be very effective, as evidenced by my roommate’s neglect to ask about my credentials.
I love art and I consider hair styling an art. Isn’t it just sculpting someone’s hair? Like Michelangelo said when sculpting “David,” he just released the true form that was inside the marble already. When on walks out of a hair salon with a freshly cut mane, don’t they feel like a work of art? I think most stylists would agree.
I was one of the rebels of the hair world and my career as a hair stylist began with great controversy. Like most young artists, my questionable technique wasn’t completely accepted by a more conservative public. I was clearly ahead of my time.
My mom was in the shower. She had just strapped my sister in her high chair to play. When she finished showering she was going to give Anna a trim. I was almost four at the time, which would have made Anna about two.
Anna had beautiful straight blonde hair that went just past her shoulders. Her tresses were so pretty and thick even strangers would compliment regularly. This was a source of great satisfaction for my mom. As Anna sat in her high chair, I looked at the scissors on the counter and picked them up. Then, feeling inspired to do my mother a great favor, I asked my little sister, “Anna, want me to cut your hair?”
“Yeah!” she squeaked. That was all I needed to hear. I placed a napkin on her neck and sprinkled some water on her head, just like I had seen the barber do.
“What do you want to look like?” I asked. My customer satisfaction would be guaranteed.
“A lion.” she replied. My mouth gaped. Those had been my thoughts exactly. I could do that. I had seen plenty of lions on T.V. It is true bliss when stylist and client have such an understanding.
First, I’d have to get rid of all the excess hair. I began clipping off strands here and there. Anna sat very still. She kept busy by playing with the locks that were being chopped from her head. Cutting hair was easy. I wondered what took my mom so long when she cut hair. Anna’s hair became a reflection of my innermost creativity. With several more carefully placed whacks, I had freed her inner essence. I could almost hear her roar in celebration of her newfound identity. I felt like Van Gogh, although no ears were lost or nicked during my artistic career.
As I stepped back to admire my creation I heard my mom shriek, “Oh my God!? Aaron, what have you done?” I was at a loss. The scissors were still stuck in my hand. She didn’t like it. Now I was in trouble. What had been my heart had become my mother’s nightmare.
“Look at Anna’s hair!” she scolded. I looked. Long strands were all over the floor. A couple were still attached to her head. Apparently, I had missed some.
“She looks like a lion,” I ventured.
“Aaron, you cut off all your sister’s hair, look what you’ve done…” my mother trailed off. I looked again.
“Anna wanted me to.” I said. As if on cue, my sister proceeded to put on the performance of her life. She began crying and holding her head while staring longingly at the floor. I stared in disbelief. Never had I seen such a display. Every tear was a stab in the back. Having been betrayed by my sister, all hope of acquittal was gone.
My mom ended up taking Anna to a more experienced stylist who was able to make her somewhat presentable. I remember Anna wore a shag haircut for a long time after that.
Anna is 23 now and we are still close. Her hair is long and thick once again. She still receives compliments all the time. Once in a while though, I can still see the lion trying to get out.