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Taking care of yourself is important, especially when you reach a certain age. Years of labor, either sitting at your desk or delivering parcels, take their toll. We all need good sleep, regular strength and mobility training, and a healthy diet. Check, check, check, and check. Mental health also matters: therapy, meditation, digital hygiene. Check, check, and… you got me—I’m far from perfect. There are other forms of self-care that are less evident. Often, worrying about appearance is considered frivolous. I don’t agree with that. When I think I look good, I feel good. When I work from home, what I miss the most is dressing up, because I makes me feel better than hanging around in my PJs.
So the other day, when I was feeling a bit down and needed a shave, I decided to go to the barber for a quick and cheap pick-me-up grooming session. I pictured myself reclined in the barber's chair, with a stranger holding a blade to my neck. One well-placed slice could end it all, but because of my mafia don presence they'd never dare. Having that feeling and walking out with a clean shave after being pampered for 15 minutes sounded like an easy way to get out of a funk.
Saturday eventually came around, and it was a beautiful, sunny day. After breakfast, I made an espresso with delicious Colombian beans and sipped it on the balcony, taking in the cool spring air. It was time to start the day. I went to the bathroom, cleaned the sleepies from my eyes, and brushed my teeth. Then I put on a good pair of slacks and a button-up shirt. I was feeling fresh and ready for a stroll.
There were a few lounges I could choose from in my neighborhood, so I had to decide where to go. I was in the mood for some quick banter and razor precision. I thought the Latino salon a couple of blocks away would be the right choice. When I got to the shop, I looked through the window. The barber was working on a client, but there was nobody else waiting, so I'd be next in line. Nice.
When I opened the door, I heard a bell ring, reggaeton at full blast, and the two gentlemen having a loud conversation to hear themselves over the music. It was everything I was hoping for.
“¡Buenos días, pana!” the barber greeted me.
I told him I was looking for a shave and asked if I could take a seat and wait for my turn. Before I could walk toward the battered faux-leather couch to take my place, the shopkeeper asked me if I had an appointment. I told him I didn’t, but that I didn’t mind waiting. He smirked and told me his first opening was in a couple of hours.
At this age, I can only handle loud music for short amounts of time, and there were a half dozen places within a five-block radius I could go to. It was Saturday, it was sunny, and I wasn’t in a hurry, so I said goodbye and walked out. I reached the corner and took a right, where I could see a barber pole at the end of the block. I reached the storefront and peered inside—it looked promising. There was a lonely cut-man sitting in the reclining chair, scrolling through his phone. This is my chance!
When I walked in, he jumped up from the chair, and we exchanged formalities. When I asked if he could give me a shave, his eyes lit up.
“Certainly!” he said. “What time’s your appointment?”
“I don’t have one.”
He nodded and He explained that a customer was coming in 10 minutes and that he was booked until noon. He gave me his card and told me to call in advance. I took it and stepped out, annoyed.
Across the street, I saw another male salon. It was more upscale than what I was looking for. I jaywalked my way there and took a peek inside. There were five chairs, all busy, and both patrons and trimmers were young and looked ready for Saturday night. Not really my crowd, so I opened the door reluctantly.
“Name and time,” said the receptionist, who was nodding to the house beat that was playing at 11.
Feeling out of place, I asked for a shave, and he repeated with an even sharper tone:
“Name and time, please.”
I didn’t even bother answering and left.
Walking back home I felt disappointed and silly, even though a part of me knew I'd fail from the moment I stepped out of my building. Of course, I know you need to book an appointment at a barber. I usually book my haircuts a month in advance! I told you, I enjoy sensibly taking care of my appearance. Yet I still had a sense of unease.
I remember when I was a kid and got a haircut. My dad would take my three brothers and me to Lozano's on a Saturday morning. We didn't have a phone, so we couldn’t have made an appointment even if we wanted to. We'd just get there and take turns. It was five of us, so that meant it was an hour’s work. While we were waiting, Lozano would crack cheesy jokes for us, and he and my dad would shoot the shit. If someone came in while we were there, they'd take a seat, read the paper, or join the conversation.
We don't do that anymore. We don't just hang around and wait. For instance, we rarely go to the farmer's market to buy our food. Instead of stopping by each stall to enjoy the chitchat, we go to the supermarket because it’s quicker. Rather than communing with our neighbors while waiting at a bus stop, we check the timetable on Google Maps so we can get there when the bus arrives. We do online banking so we don’t have to queue and speak to a teller. We book doctor’s appointments through an app so we don’t have to speak with a receptionist. We work from home to avoid the small talk with our colleagues. We choose efficiency over spending our time with the people around us and getting to know them. Most of us consider hanging around and waiting a waste of time.
But how rich are our experiences becoming as a result of efficiency?
Let me illustrate my point. The other day, I needed to buy parts for my mountain bike. I called a bike shop and asked for some advice. This guy rides three hours a day. He loves bikes and has been working with and enjoying them for decades. He's got the bug, and he knows I’ve also got it. He knows that I love riding my bike, and if he gives me good advice, he knows I'm coming back. I could've taken his advice, decided what to buy, and found a better price online. Instead, I stopped by the store, picked up the parts, and talked a while longer about bikes. It was a moment we both enjoyed. If I compare that experience to getting a nondescript package from a courier—who I don’t even see because they leave the package in the elevator—the extra time and effort of going to the shop was well worth it.
It makes me wonder why we live this way. I'm speculating, but I'd say we choose efficiency over creating communal consciousness by interacting with each other because it's more productive. Productivity leads to growth and being able to have more, and having more makes us happier. Again, speculating, but it doesn't seem we’re much happier than when we’d hang around the barbershop, waiting and shooting the shit, and being unproductive and having less was a structural part of our existence.
What do the walk-in haircuts of the past teach us? Not that the good old days were better. Some things were, but not for everyone, just like nowadays. The lesson is that efficiency, productivity, and having more aren’t the keys to happiness. Yes, in the past we sat around and waited for our haircuts at the cost of productivity. But we also gained awareness of the people we lived with. That’s crucial to building class consciousness. That’s the idea that we are all in this together and that we are all better off if we live lives well, rather than with more.
But don’t mind me… I’m just shooting the shit.
This is part of a series of reflections on class consciousness. For more, see:
Empecé a leer el relato y lo primero q pensé….Lozano…