Corona Coiffures by an Incidental Hairstylist

By Didi Gorman

I have recently taken a liking to the art of hair trimming. Or not exactly. But I was still made into a hairdresser of sorts.

That’s because lockdown locks, curfew curls, and mighty manes have developed on various heads of late, whereupon grooming was called for. But who should do the clipping job?

Honestly, I don’t know why they were looking at me. The closest I’ve ever come to experimenting with haircutting was weed-whacking in the backyard, but I guess that counts as some sort of expertise.

What followed next should serve as a cautionary tale. A somewhat reluctant family member was seated on a stool in the middle of the living room, where I had just finished reading the instructions for using our newly-purchased haircutting kit. But even as I was learning how to hold the clipper, some questions remained, such as, what does this button do, the one right here?

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh!!! Sorry!!! I wasn’t prepared for this sudden vibration! I’m so, so sorry!

That abrupt buzz took me by such surprise, that the clipper flew out of my hands and snipped a strip off my horrified client’s sideburns. Oh! I’m quite shaken by this, but not as shaken as my visibly-alarmed customer. I resume operation, a tad wary after this rocky start, and I keep telling myself to be gentler this time. My confidence is regained when I manage to mow around ears and neckline (luckily, no Band-Aid needed), only to realize that the combination of blades and levers I have chosen, and which I had taken to be measured in inches, actually measures in millimeters… I only hope my customer likes Marine cuts; or has a nice hat, or at least – please, please – doesn’t ask for a mirror right now…

I make a mental note to google ‘How long does it take for hair to grow,’ later. Then I remind myself we’re in a lockdown. Phew. By the time this quarantine is over, my patient would have grown braids!

From the corners of my eyes I can spot another family member (the one whose turn it was next) taking flight to the basement. I can hear a door being shut and a lock being hastily locked. For a brief moment I consider chasing after them. But then I think the better of it. After all, I can always wait for them to fall asleep to work on their bangs. And I haven’t quite finished styling my current customer anyway. Back to work then. But since I haven’t quite figured whether I should be holding the trimmer just so or upside down (which one is it then?), I decide to go for some scissoring, instead.

The entire left side succumbs to the wrath of my scissors. Bam! Gone! I’m then being kindly reminded that I promised to be gentle. Right, right. Sorry. My bad.

We’re nearly done now. Let me just touch up a little bit here…. And a little bit there…. And a bit more from the side…. There!

I contemplate the fruits of my labor. Except for the top of the head where I got too carried away and I really don’t want to talk about it, it’s not that bad, actually. The left side is as shaven as a prisoner’s, but the right side, on the other hand, sports a few delicate strands which, under the circumstances, could be considered as bangs, at least if you don’t look too closely or are nearsighted. Think of it as combining the rough with the tender, the yin with the yang, hope with despair, distress with agony...

This house-arrest hairdo surely makes a statement. It says, ‘When are hair salons going to open already?’