Haircuts – an interior monlogue, externalized

So I got a haircut today. To be honest I would the experience to be mildly intimidating. I hate the pictures of immaculate yet hirsute male models. I hate the waiting in turn with nothing to read except a used copy of The Daily Star (or The Mail). I hate my attempts at trying to small talk with the barber. I hate the awkward silences when my attempts at small talk fail.
Mysteriously the other clientel of the barber all seemed to know each other. I, a white, heterosexual, slightly uptight male would never go for a haircut with other men. Why are they all together? They talk raucously about girls and football and cars. I feel left out. When did it become normal to frequent barbers shops with ones friends? I know we’re all metrosexual now. I know we can use moisturizer. I know if I so wish I can wear a Dermot O’Leary-esque cardigan and T-Shirt combo, but go to a barbers shop with another person, that still seems unthinkable somehow.

Maybe I’m using being uptight.

I hate going to barber’s shops.