My Haircut Boyfriend
Re: Who is with Taylor Sirard?
My romance with Finn* began with a haircut in my bathtub. He needed one and didn't particularly care how it looked. I had clippers and didn't particularly know how to cut hair. Perfect match. We spent a long time making unique styling choices; blunt bob an inch above the ears, stair-step neckline, the side shaved at a three and the back at a one. It was bizarre and hilarious, so he kept it that way.
A couple of weeks later Finn asked me to dye his hair. We hadn't yet discussed being attracted to each other. As it turned out, dying his hair took a lot longer than the haircut. I applied the dye slowly and meticulously. He asked for my help rinsing it out thoroughly under the faucet. The process empowered anticipation to build between us. By the time I completed the final step, the tips of my fingers were buzzing.
Soon, Finn and I were seeing each other in less clinical scenarios. Our relationship was brief, casual, and immature.
One night I came home, unbothered to find him kissing my roommate. I giggled and left the room to give them privacy. Finn shortly joined me and a group of friends in the kitchen and announced he wanted me to cut his hair. I was touched. He told me he was waiting for his "haircut girlfriend." Although it was something we joked about, it remained true that, while together, we were the only ones to alter each other's hair. Hairstyling was the only form of commitment we had to each other at all.
Finn got a new haircut soon after we stopped seeing each other. I ran into him at a show and complimented it. Referring to my overgrown buzz I quipped, "I broke up with my haircut boyfriend, so it's been a while." He darted to the opposite side of the room in response.
I admit the first haircut by another hand was a bit emotional for me. When I switched to cutting my own hair, it was liberating. While divorcees may find empowerment in completing housework alone, I found it in learning to aim clippers through two reflections at the back of my head.
My haircut independence remained so. I was the only one to cut my hair, and the only hair I cut was my own. That is, until I met Art.
Art and I met six months into my haircut independence, while I was visiting my Grandmother in Arizona. Throughout those six months, I considered stopping into a barber shop, but it never felt right. Even when I was around friends and family, I opted to trim my hair myself.
It wasn't until I had a conversation with Art about his career as a barber that I decided to finally allow someone else to cut my hair. Art wasn't just some boy I handed my clippers to. He was a professional. The only job he ever had was cutting hair. Art even cut his own hair. I was impressed.
One sunny afternoon Art pulled up outside of my Grandmother's trailer. We had previously arranged a date for him to cut my hair, and he arrived fully prepared. Art opened his trunk to unload a complete barbershop. Before long the patio was equipped with a stool, comb, spray bottle, hand mirror, and electric clippers.
I sat down at Art's stool and he swept a barber's cape over me, snugly fastening it around my neck. My family watched on, somehow shocked I was shortening my recently buzzed hair. Maybe the shock had more to do with the slight tremble in Art's hands. I noticed his shakiness but remained unconcerned.
One perk of having short hair is that a bad haircut is a very temporary problem. I stopped feeling attached to my hair when my first haircut boyfriend shaved it all off. I thought about Finn for a moment as Art made his first swipes with the clippers. "What an upgrade," I mused.
After my haircut, Art went on to his own trim. His haircut independence was decades in the making. Even so, he passed me the razor for those tough-to-reach spots in the back.
My romance with Finn* began with a haircut in my bathtub. He needed one and didn't particularly care how it looked. I had clippers and didn't particularly know how to cut hair. Perfect match. We spent a long time making unique styling choices; blunt bob an inch above the ears, stair-step neckline, the side shaved at a three and the back at a one. It was bizarre and hilarious, so he kept it that way.
A couple of weeks later Finn asked me to dye his hair. We hadn't yet discussed being attracted to each other. As it turned out, dying his hair took a lot longer than the haircut. I applied the dye slowly and meticulously. He asked for my help rinsing it out thoroughly under the faucet. The process empowered anticipation to build between us. By the time I completed the final step, the tips of my fingers were buzzing.
Soon, Finn and I were seeing each other in less clinical scenarios. Our relationship was brief, casual, and immature.
One night I came home, unbothered to find him kissing my roommate. I giggled and left the room to give them privacy. Finn shortly joined me and a group of friends in the kitchen and announced he wanted me to cut his hair. I was touched. He told me he was waiting for his "haircut girlfriend." Although it was something we joked about, it remained true that, while together, we were the only ones to alter each other's hair. Hairstyling was the only form of commitment we had to each other at all.
Finn got a new haircut soon after we stopped seeing each other. I ran into him at a show and complimented it. Referring to my overgrown buzz I quipped, "I broke up with my haircut boyfriend, so it's been a while." He darted to the opposite side of the room in response.
I admit the first haircut by another hand was a bit emotional for me. When I switched to cutting my own hair, it was liberating. While divorcees may find empowerment in completing housework alone, I found it in learning to aim clippers through two reflections at the back of my head.
My haircut independence remained so. I was the only one to cut my hair, and the only hair I cut was my own. That is, until I met Art.
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Art and I met six months into my haircut independence, while I was visiting my Grandmother in Arizona. Throughout those six months, I considered stopping into a barber shop, but it never felt right. Even when I was around friends and family, I opted to trim my hair myself.
It wasn't until I had a conversation with Art about his career as a barber that I decided to finally allow someone else to cut my hair. Art wasn't just some boy I handed my clippers to. He was a professional. The only job he ever had was cutting hair. Art even cut his own hair. I was impressed.
One sunny afternoon Art pulled up outside of my Grandmother's trailer. We had previously arranged a date for him to cut my hair, and he arrived fully prepared. Art opened his trunk to unload a complete barbershop. Before long the patio was equipped with a stool, comb, spray bottle, hand mirror, and electric clippers.
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| [Image: A round stool sits on cement in front of a small folding table. On the table are the rest of the barber supplies as described above. A small charcoal grill and trashcan are behind the table. Those three items are up against an exterior wall of metal siding.] |
I sat down at Art's stool and he swept a barber's cape over me, snugly fastening it around my neck. My family watched on, somehow shocked I was shortening my recently buzzed hair. Maybe the shock had more to do with the slight tremble in Art's hands. I noticed his shakiness but remained unconcerned.
One perk of having short hair is that a bad haircut is a very temporary problem. I stopped feeling attached to my hair when my first haircut boyfriend shaved it all off. I thought about Finn for a moment as Art made his first swipes with the clippers. "What an upgrade," I mused.
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| [Image: Taylor Sirard sits with a barber's cape on while an elderly man cuts her hair with electric clippers. Both people are smiling.] |
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| [Image: The same man pictured above, now stands wearing the barber's cape. He cuts his own hair using electric clippers and a hand mirror.] |
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| [Image: The man now sits while Taylor Sirard trims the back of his head.] |
Nowadays, I get my haircuts and romance from separate people, but my period of independence taught me something important. Whether barber or lover, I look for: Someone who is experienced, someone who is mature, and someone who makes me laugh more than cry. Cheers to Art for being the first of either to meet those standards.
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Thank you so much for reading. If you, too, are uninterested in monogamy, but still desire other forms of commitment, I highly recommend becoming a patron of this blog. Head over to the WITS Patreon to pledge any amount you desire in exchange for exclusive content and updates. Don't worry, you can still keep seeing other blogs. Thank you to those who have taken the plunge already. I appreciate everyone's support, monetary and otherwise.
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*This name has been changed because.**
**Yes, you read that right.
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