Portrait of the Barber as a Young Man
I went to some old Italian guys in Raritan, New Jersey, at a shop called “Razor’s Edge.” No matter what I asked for I always got a flat top or a crew cut. Once I turned 13 or so, my friends and I started cutting each other’s hair or just cutting our own hair. In fact, I didn’t get a haircut at a barber shop again until I started working in one. I was lucky—my first boss, Nelson, was into punk rock and skateboarding. I could ask for a pompadour and not get laughed at.
Full interview here.
