Letter from the editor

Of men and beauty salons

There I stood in the bathroom, my eyes locked on to their reflection in the mirror.

I looked down.

Was I really going to do this? Was this what my life had come to?

I slowly reached up and … I willingly put "product" into my hair.

Now "product" is really some concoction of pitch and fragrance that the beauty geniuses have convinced women they need to pay a lot of money for. Personally, I'd always rolled my eyes and bit my tongue whenever my wife purchased the stuff. What is a waste of money to one is a necessity to another, I guess.

But everybody gets their hair cut once in a while, and I found myself in the dilemma of not knowing where to go last week. I've always gotten my hair cut at businesses that either had "barber" or "Great Clips" in their titles. Every now and then I walked out looking like I'd joined the military, but for the most part my one hair cut requirement was met: make it short. When you are cursed with straight hair and cow licks, short is really the only hair style available.

On Friday, I found myself well into my shaggy dog phase, and I was scared my wife was finally going to snap and shave my head in my sleep one night. So that morning I decided that I was going to carpe diem and seize the scissors. Trouble was, I didn't know where to go.

I came out of my office and asked anyone within earshot, "Where should I go to get my hair cut in Bigfork?"

I regretted the question immediately. Most of my co-workers are women, and within five seconds, every beauty parlor and salon had been rattled off. I just stood there looking confused.

Finally, one of them said, "Just go see Amy at The Hidden Escape. She's good."

"The hidden what?" I asked. "Can guys actually get their hair cut there? Shouldn't I wait until dark? Will it cost a million dollars?"

It took close to an hour before I got the guts to actually call the place and make an appointment. How in the world was I going to bring myself to get my hair cut at an honest-to-goodness salon? I'm a hunter and an outdoorsman. I hate Ryan Secrest.

I almost called and canceled.

Three hours later I was standing in front of my doom. I walked in and met Amy, my stylist.

(Did I just say I have a stylist?)

She looked like a taller version of Tea Leoni, unless Tea Leoni is tall - I've never actually met her. Everything was completely foreign to me, the smells, the shampoo stations, the pictures - everything.

I sat down in the chair and then came the inevitable question: "So, what would you like done?"

"Ummm, shorter," I said.

She kind of squinted, and I could tell she was visualizing some horrific, "trendy" hair cut for me. At any rate, she should probably sell cars for a living, because before I knew it, I had agreed to something other than "shorter." Apparently, my hair was channeling Brad Pitt to her.

Normally my stomach churns at blatant hyperbole with the intent of getting a bigger tip, but then I realized that she is a professional, and who am I to argue? She's got taste, I'll give her that (and a bigger tip).

"I usually start everyone off with a shampoo and a head massage," she said. The look on my face must have told her that's where I draw the line, and she decided to skip all that and just give me a hair cut.

When she was done, I was surprised. I didn't hate it, and I looked OK. Maybe I could be a journalist nerd with movie star good looks.

Maybe not, but I'm available for "Ocean's 13."

The real trick, however, is in the upkeep. I can't just take a shower and leave. No, I have to apply "product." And it never looks the same. She made it sound so simple, and there aren't even instructions for me to ignore. I'm actually using my wife's hair care products.

I just said hair care products.

Oh, this is a new low. Good thing hunting season is just around the corner or I'd probably be dress shopping and trying out for American Idol.

And Amy, don't tell anyone, but I'll be back in next month. My wife will probably be out of "product" by then anyway.