By Damon Young
Dec. 30, 2020
Credit...Igor Bastidas
It’s funny how, in the 10th month of Covid, some of the things I miss most are things I hadn’t thought were missable. I miss the barbershop, for instance, for reasons that would be obvious if you saw me. I used to make weekly trips, but I haven’t been since March. I feel as if I look like a mashup of Frederick Douglass and Chewbacca’s neck. I’m pining for the pomp and circumstance in the process of the cut, the ceremony of the barber raising and snapping the cape before smoothing it on me and fastening it around my neck, the sting and lovely stank of peroxide applied to my fresh hairline and newly speck-free neck. And then the big reveal — the moment when the artisan has finished and spins me in the chair to face the wall of mirrors and witness the masterwork.