Best Place to Get Flashed in the Flatiron (2008)

Jean-Claude Biguine Salon

You're a barber's man, a man's man. You decry the soft commodification of the salon, championing the self-assured masculinity of the red, white, and blue pole. But lately, you wrestle with doubt: When Sal trimmed your cautiously advancing sideburns to regulation length—with neither provocation, nor consultation—it was too much. Fed up with spending every sixth Saturday with a reactionary surrogate father, you resolve yourself to that most supreme act of disloyalty—hairdultery. Enter JEAN-CLAUDE BIGUINE SALON. Sohala, the stern and beautiful matron, personifies the anti-barber, her graceful Euro-haughtiness serving only to accentuate the flirtatious compliments she hurls at you. And of course, she's right. Your hair color is far too dark for your complexion, not to mention your eyes. You could use a little flash. (How flash differs from conventional highlights couldn't be less relevant.) Forty-five minutes later—your hair and skin tones reconciled after all these years—even the unbarberly tab (haircut $31.20, flash "for you, $45") cannot dampen your elation as you take your leave among accolades of "You look great!" No, Sal never did tell you that, did he?


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