After my traumatically short and inexplicably layered ("Blunt bob with bangs, please!") haircut this January, I was understandably gun-shy about letting another strange man armed with dangerous scissors near my head. Especially when the offending haircut costs upward of $40. The growing-out layers had morphed into something oddly mullety and terrible of late, and finally, I could not avoid it any longer. I had to find someone I could trust not to completely fuck up my haircut, and I had to make it very goddamn clear that if any more layers were to occur, I would be forced to take shears to the hairdresser's eyes.
I put my trust in Clifton Barbers.
Clifton Barbers is the old-school, painted-window barbershop down our block run by a jolly man in his late 50's. The barbershop is three true barber's chairs, all with attached sinks for a shave, green linoleum, and a gumball machine in the corner. I figured that for $14, I could make very specific hand gestures indicating exactly where I wanted my hair cut in a very straight line across the bottoms of my ears, and it would do for a temporary fix. Well, Clifton Barbers, you have a convert. I got a fabulous and quick and cheap haircut, and as a bonus, was also offered a puppy. Your shop did not smell of old women, cooking beef (oh, this has happened. And it was disgusting to mix the smell of shampoo with the smell of ground meat in a crock-pot.), or potpourri. For $14 and the promise of a puppy, I'm your loyal customer for the remainder of my residence in Cincinnati. Old-fashioned barber for the win!
...and with the $30ish I saved, I bought dinner and a studded enamel bracelet at a discount department store I'd never heard of- Stein Mart. They seem to be a vaguely Southern phenomenon, and provide a really outstanding choice in the costume jewelry category. I was also tempted to buy a wraparound jeweled enamel snake bracelet, a pinky ring, some jet beads, and a clutch. I went with a black and silver bangle with pyramid studs, à la Kenneth Jay Lane.
Tomorrow: Kentucky Derby, mint juleps, and a gorgeously gaudy peacock hat. Photos to come. Just as soon as I recover from the inevitable bourbon haze on Sunday morning.