Cheap Haircut, Free Gossip, Glad Hand-y with the Eyeliner

Cheap Haircut, Free Gossip, Glad Hand-y with the Eyeliner. Learned what a “Lipover” was, Opted to Pass. Maybe that’s why nobody makes out with me…

It went like this:
KP: Oh, that’s Douglas J, it’s a haircutting school.
Richie: I was driving around by the DAAC and I saw this line of like twelve hot girls all walking out of there. I was wondering what that was…

Douglas J Salon is a high-end cosmetology school downtown where the students get two heads a semester (the hair is real!), graded under the careful watch of Instructor, a guaranteed job at any Aveda Salon if they graduate. Sound treacherous? Just get ‘em talking about each other.

For the ladies: thirteen-dollar haircuts by your favorite ex-bartenders and eighteen year old asymmetrically coiffed Lowell HS graduates, complete with full wash and scalp massage.

For the Fellas: at least thirty teased-up, blown-out foxes who don’t pass unless they rub their fingers through your hair, regardless of its condition. Not recommended unless you’re looking for something of the hip, layered, combed-over-one-side-of-your-face variety. That might be the only one they know.

For the Pervs: Thirteen-dollar rubdowns by obvious minors. No questions asked, except “What is your favorite thing about your hair?” Careful though, there is one dude who works there who is kinda small but might try to kick your ass. Or at least slap you bitch.

So Stef gets a haircut: I went in there a little too close to shift change, I think (4:30 pm). I get my hair washed, oiled, all that good stuff, and she asks what I want. What the hell, right? This is haircutting school, bursting with inspiration, talent, heavy-lidded enthusiasm for style and creativity. I say: knock yourself out. Do whatever you think would look good, Misty (that probably wasn’t her name). I asked her if she liked attending school there. She proceeds to tell me which ones of the other girls had fake boobs, hair extensions (except the one that was bad, apparently, that one she called a “straight-up weave”), and which ones were banging rich guys. She said girls can be kind of bitchy, and slammed her hand over her mouth, I told her I didn’t care, and she kept going. It took her about 45 minutes, and she called over an Instructor (also a hot chick) who appeared to be doing this to serve mandatory community service for a first-offense DUI or something. She walked around with a clipboard and a ruler, and I could tell “Misty” was scared of her because she stopped saying nasty things about the other people as soon as she came around. Instructor rounded out the hour by turning my chair so it faced the mirror. Surprise! She’d taken about three inches off of the bottom, that’s it. Instructor spent a fair share of time correcting in places, trying almost visibly to ignore the fact that I could have just done that myself with the old whack-off-the-ponytail trick. Oh well, Instructor was putting her jacket on and Misty had to get to her other job as a server at the Grandville Max & Erma’s or whatever. Later, I had to go back and have it corrected, which was a slight improvement and used up another hour but they were nice about it and didn’t charge me. They gave my sister a really good haircut though. I recommend taking the tour, it’s hilarious.

KP gets a haircut: the tiny girl whose special talents included the straightening iron and the teasing comb leans over KP’s shoulder (again, she doesn’t do much to the hair except tease it and straighten it) and whispers almost inaudibly over various hair-drying apparatus, “this city…scares me.” KP then proceeds to tell the poor girl about the time she got mugged in front of her apartment. Anyways, the better KP haircut story is about the Douglas J in East Lansing, where she met a guy (that worked there) who was more dolled up than she was, swore that he wasn’t gay and then took her and his grandma out for margaritas at Don Pablo’s. KP’s tour included the break room, washer and dryers and the back door (ooh…).

Verdict: Cool, especially if you’re a boy who’s looking to defend himself to his buddies about how he’s really not emo for a while, or a rock star. I’ll bet that if you know how you want your hair cut, they’ll do a good job on you too. If anything, it’s good for a few laughs (how much are the movies, again?), no way can you put that many pouty-faced youngsters in the same room and expect them to share barrel curlers without fireworks. The thirteen dollars was worth it but I’m not sure about the two hours…