Savvy Hair (The Hair Knows, Just Ask Questions)

Relenting on my clenched no-cut hair strategy, yesterday I went to the hairdressers in the neighborhood for a trim and got the service one expects at a Cadillac dealer. The place is called Savvy Hair Design and is notorious in the neighborhood for being a rehabbed storefront painted entirely deep blue. I think people are scared of the whole damn thing. They shouldn’t be. Inside you will find an oasis of hair cuttery unrivaled from Cambridge to Somerville.

The affair began on Monday with me making a phone call to Savvy, leaving a message and detailing my problem. To bring the reader into the fold, somewhat, I will explain now that I was having medical problems with my long locks. Never having had locks this long, I was disturbed and even distressed that in the shower the long side pieces would cover up my ear, and being wet, create a flap with suction that could muff my entire ear and totally distort my hearing. Every time that happened in the shower, I freaked. Couldn’t hear a damn thing with that wet muff there!

So in the message that I left on Monday (when Savvy is not open), I detailed the medical problem in a truncated manner, hung up, and thought nothing further. The very next day I check my messages and Savvy has called me back and left me one. It is Helen on the message, talking about how she feels the pain of my distress, and how she would properly address the stress. Very professionally, I like. So I call Savvy.

This time I speak with the owner. I actually have video of this phone call, if anyone is interested. Its not that funny or relevant, or you’d see it here. The funniest part is when I am describing my “medical” hair problem and the owner is like “slow down” and I roll my eyes. There, I ruined the video for everybody. Now forget it. Anyway, I began to get the full impression that everything is going to be okay. My mind, overwelmed by hair problems, begins to relax, and I make a hair appointment and then go play basketball.

I lose at H-O-R-S-E, but tie at Around the World, shower and change my clothes, then walk down into Inman Square for my scheduled hair appointment. I show up at Savvy Hair and I am the only mofo there, which is no problem because I have enough hair for a small mob. Helen is ready and gets a cape on me. I feel good to be in the chair in the hood. And I’m not worried about events taking too long because we discussed my work scheudle on the phone. Besides, my work is across the street. I am easy.

Helen starts a conversation about ringtones and in particular, compliments me on my ringback tone. She has written down the message from the company, which says, “Please enjoy the music while your party is being reached…” that plays when you call my phone. I tell her that its a song I paid for by accident, recorded by “Ghostface Killah.” She continues to compliment me and says that it sounds like I am someone very important person and rico suave because I have a ringback tone. Instantly comfortable, the street attorney kicks back and awaits the scissors…

She has a story about Ghostface that I simply must try to replicate, though I may butcher it. One time, Helen says, she was on a motorcycle with the owner of Savvy Hair (and to be honest she may be the owner, or they may be an item, or something, I really let my hair down on the detective work) in Harvard Square. The motorcycle pulled up to a van that said, “Ghostface Killah” on the side and she looked up and saw, in the passenger seat, a big black man. “Hey!” she yelled, “Are you Ghostface Killah?!” And the man slowly, calmly, but pleasantly, looked down to her ride and said, “No, I’m King Bee.”

Who the fuck is King Bee? Anyway, my lady Helen knows and speaks to me about hair strategy. About the principle of cleaning up the shape, the footprint of the future hair. So that when the damn thing grows into one length, one desirable buttery hair length, it will be uniform, buttery and clean. I totally dig the head session. She cleans up my sideburns and procedes to stick my head in the sink.

I have to cut this shit short (not my hair). The boys no good, and my Wu Tang prints just arrived from California. ***All Photos are the geniusworks of Keek the Sneak***