Feelin' Shaggy?

You're tired of the same old 'do. What to do? The Review staff took their lives in their hands and sought out the best in beauty and coif control that Oberlin has to offer. The results just go to show: this little town is on the cutting edge of style. Sort of.

Quality of Cut:

Music: '80s (radio)
Magazines: New Yorker, National Geographic, Cosmopolitan, Glamour
Price: $25

Complimentary cappuccinos and chocolates served in a hair salon before a pricy hair-cut in Los Angeles are not unusual. The fou-fou salons primp and pamper you, but the end product of your new "do" usually leaves you surprised and even flabbergasted. For a couple years now, I've grown fond of receiving a $10 haircut or a friendly, not-always-even haircut from a fellow roommate. I was tense and even worried about venturing to A Cut Above, unaccostomed to a prestigious hair salon.

I confess that I am most pleased and satisfied by Renee Rivera's conservative, yet stylish haircut, and her overall service. I entered A Cut Above looking a little squeamish, my hair disheveled after awakening only five mintues earlier. Rivera greeted me quickly and sat me in one of those infamous swively chairs.

She asked me, "So what do you want me to do with your hair today, Michelle?" Back in the day, I would have probably cut out a picture of Claire Danes or Niki Taylor from Seventeen and told her that I wanted to look "like her." But I've come to grips with reality and simply told her, "I want my hair shorter and to look good." My vagueness seemed to please her after I assured her that any length or style would please me. She proceeded to wash my hair with some sweetly scented shampoo and conditioner. I was ready for the cut.

Rivera snipped away, and we chatted about professors, politics and El Nino, a topic most Californians can't steer away from. I usually put my full trust in any hair-stylist, so I quickly became comfortable with the pleasant environment of the salon. I peered out through my web of hair draped over my face to watch Rivera in action. Every move was swift and decisive. She was good.

After the cut, she blow-dryed my hair and curled the ends with some hair appliance I haven't seen advertised on T.V. yet. A couple snips of some unwanted hairs and a little gel ended my escapade and reaffirmed my faith in a relatively pricey Oberlin salon. I left A Cut Above happy, swaying my hair confidently down College Street.

-Michelle Becker (Managing Editor)

Quality of Cut:

Music: [doesn't remember]
Magazines: Rolling Stone, various fashion magazines
Price: $30-$35

Maxelle's is a hair salon that really understands the mindset many Oberlin students have about hair. Most of us think: why pay to get it cut when I can do that myself? why comb it? why wash it? why bother?

I must admit, I used to feel this way about my hair. Until I met Anthony from Maxell's. Before Anthony, my hair was an unkempt, scraggly mass, resembling a used mop head. I'd had the same haircut since the sixth grade, and had first chopped my hair off in kindergarten.

Since arriving at Oberlin four years ago, I'd made my friends give me haircuts, and they'd often threatened to give me a mohawk, just so I'd look different. I'd resisted their efforts. But last summer, for some reason, I decided to let my hair grow. And grow it did, until the back and sides were long and fanned out into wings.

Because all this longer hair did was hang in my face and annoy me (and plus, I loathed the wings), I wore my Greek fishermen's cap everywhere. I wore it 24 hours day, including while I slept and showered. So I decided I needed someone to fix my hair, which would eliminate the wings and also please my parents, who were never big fans of the unkempt Oberlin look.

Here's how I ended up at Maxelle's: I mentioned to one of my friends that I wanted someone to fix my hair. She was so enthusiastic about the idea that she offered to treat me to the nicest haircut around. She said we weren't going to be limited by Oberlin's measly choices, either. We were going to Cleveland. So she called the concierage of The Sheraton, asked where we could get a good haircut, and was told Maxelle's, which is located at the ritzy Tower City mall in Cleveland.

I can hardly remember Maxelle's itself. It's a nice enough place, brightly lit. But I can't remember the music that was playing, or what the other customers were like. The only thing that sticks in my mind is Anthony, age 22, who surveyed my hair once I'd sat down and remarked, "So you don't really want much done, do you?"

No other hair stylist has ever asked me that. Instead, they've viewed me as a project, someone to shape and mold, and have sculpted my hair into something hard, that only hairspray and gel can hold together. But Anthony had me pegged at a glance. He didn't care about changing me into something I was not. He looked at me and thought: now here's someone who doesn't like to comb their hair.

At this point, my friends took over. "We're looking for something different," they'd informed Anthony, who immediately pegged them as the decision makers and handed them books of haircuts to look through. "Can you fix the wings?" I'd asked. And he did. It was my only concrete request. He gave me a simple haircut that I liked, and though he used some hairspray to hold it together, he told me, "You don't really have to do that, if you don't want to." Yup, he had me pegged. Low maintenance all the way.

I have since returned to Maxelle's and I was only more impressed with Anthony on the repeat visit. You have to be impressed with a hair stylist who greets you wearing a hat and dares to say, pointing to the hat, "I didn't feel like combing my hair today." You have to be impressed with a hair stylist who talks to you about the Spice Girls and Madonna, whom he referred to as his girlfriend, while you read aloud from Rolling Stone. You have to be impressed with a hairdresser who doesn't chatter in your ear the whole time and make you wish you could stab them with their scissors.

Overall, Maxelle's is expensive. But I sing the praises of Anthony. He can give you a good haircut, he doesn't expect you to actually comb it, and he knows who Scary Spice is. What more could you want?

-Sara Foss (Copy Editor)

Quality of Cut:

Music: "Dream Weaver"
Magazines: Ohio Medical Journal, Cleveland Today
Price: $10

Don't get me wrong, "Miami Vice" was a good show. But as a boutique motif, it really made me wonder.

With 57 aqua-marine palm trees stenciled onto its hot-pink walls, Heads Together in Elyria was either a color-coordinator's nightmare or a day-glo lover's dream.

I scheduled my hair appointment only 30 minutes before my eyes met its pink facade for the first time. I was initially stunned at the flock of over 50 plastic pink flamingos that were roosting along the converted house's walls, but later I got a little nervous. These "stylish" people were going to cut my hair.

A sign in the parking lot said "Pull up close" in order to ensure that all of the precious customers would have room to park, and we pulled up close to the wall. I walked into the house hoping for the best. Instead, I got The Beth.

Beth was the kind of girl that used 1.5 cans of hairspray per week in 1987 and finds herself displaced and alone today. She had an inquisitive expression on her face when I walked in, but unfortunately it did not stay.

After a minute scheduling goof-up was forgotten, Beth took me into the salon portion of the house. She sat me down to wet my hair, but before my head hit the sink, I saw the home-made model posters that the salon had apparently made. All of the models looked like Mick Jagger with a bad perm.

I was ready to put that grotesque image behind me for fear it would spoil any fair review of the place, and I didn't think about it until after I plopped in front of a wave shaped mirror with wet hair. "I'm a beautician, not a magician," a sign said.

"Shoot," I thought.

Beth surprised me now by speaking for the first time. "So, do you have any idea of what you want done?"

I guess the normalcy of the question seemed out of place in this house of pink that seemed so unordinary. I wanted a trim though, so I indicated such. She looked a little relieved.

As she combed out my hair, my gaze wandered around the room. Among the weirdness was a box of Saint Patrick's Day badges from five years ago that looked like it had been found in an alley. Another sign: "Middle-Aged Salon: specializes in gray hair and no hair," also adorned the wall.

The next hairdresser over had miniature posters of Las Vegas lacing her mirror and her customer was chatting about her 11 sisters visiting Las Vegas this year. Ten minutes earlier, that customer stormed into the salon announcing, "I'm here for my tail."

I was riveted from my eaves-dropping lull by a peripheral view of Beth removing a Leatherman tool from a drawer. Fortunately, the leather case housed scissors, not pliars.

At this point I surmised that the song "Dream Weaver" was on automatic repeat since I had heard it about 30 times since I walked in. I could handle the drone of that song, but the primal screams emanating from the upstairs tanning beds were a bit unnerving.

I was a little afraid to talk to Beth for fear she would lose her concentration: she sure looked like she was concentrating. But soon, my haircut was over. I looked at myself in the mirror and wasn't overly displeased. In fact, the hair was the best part.

Heads Together proclaims itself as the "Best Little Hairhouse in Town." At only $10 for a lot of laughs, I doubt I could argue. Its thousands of idiosycracies almost congeal together to be thematic, and I'd recommend it for someone wanting to get out of acadamia for an hour. Just beware, if pink makes you queazy, wear shades.

-Abby Person (Sports Editor)

Quality of Cut:

Music: Sister Hazel, Hootie, various country artists
Magizines: Parenting, miscellaneous hair magazines circa 1987
Price: $12-$15

Up until Thursday morning, the only person in all of Oberlin - in all of Ohio, even - that I had ever trusted to take a pair of scissors to my head was myself. I strongly support the do-it-yourself motto when it comes to haircutting. However, for every three successful trials in giving myself a trim, there is always one self-haircutting session when I'm not up to par. Last Saturday was one of those days, and instead of panicking and trimming off more and more from each side in frantic attempts to straighten the crook in the neckline, I took it upon myself to have a "professional" fix me up.

RG Hair Studio was not my first choice, but on such short notice and with competition in regards to all the guinnea pigs trying out places this week, I figured it was as safe as anywhere else. The small salon is wedged between the Mandarin and that muffler shop on the corner of Main Street and Vine, and from the looks of it, they don't get much business.

When I pushed the door open into that empty shop and claimed I had an appointment, three women greeted me and looked more than pleased. It took me a minute to figure out that although one of them was completely roller-infested, and another was just sitting down to have her own hair set, they all were employees. Usually, it's not a good sign if the stylists have so much free time on their hands that they're working on each other. But they were pleasant nonetheless, and were startlingly excited to meet a person who had real red hair. Go figure.

My stylist was a nice young women, probably in her twenties. Her method of haircutting was fairly straight foward: she asked what I wanted done, gave me the option of a shampoo at no extra charge (which I accepted), and did the deed. I was a little nervous when I told her that my part usually falls to the left side and she proceeded to make a neat line down the right half of my wet hair, but she wasn't offended when I corrected her.

A few feet away from my stylist and I, the topic of gossip among the other women was trivial: whether or not to take a cruise on one's honeymoon; how the daughter's ballet went last night; how the regular customer's physical therapy is going. I felt a little out of the loop having not been a regular myself, but the women were nice enough, and my stylist made small talk.

The actual cutting process is what I fear most in getting a haircut. However, I was pleased to find that my stylist was sympathetic to my self-cutting methods, and evened-out my hair without searing unnecessary chunks off the back. For the most part, she stuck to the plan.

Immediately after fleeing from RG, I went home and re-styled my hair - something I always end up doing no matter where I go. But looking myself over in the badly lit mirror of my personal salon (Langston Hall), I was pleased with the trim, especially with the fact that it wasn't that noticable.

Overall, I would say that RG Hair Studio is a fairly good deal for the thrifty college student, particularly for their Tuesday through Thursday $12 deal. Also, as an added incentive to draw more customers, the salon will give you a free $15 haircut if you con a friend into going. Not a bad deal, if you don't mind your new 'do smelling like smoke. Maybe it's part of the charm.

-Lauren Viera (Arts Editor)

Quality of Cut:

Music: Reba McIntyre, Clint Black
Magazines: True Stories,TV Guide,Victoria's Secret catalog
Price: $5

Since I've had the same hairstyle since 1976, I was a little wary of a place called Modern Beauty Salon. I had nightmarish visions of robots scultping galactic dos, shelves stocked with technicolor hair dyes and virtual reality blow-drying.

I needn't have worried.

Maybe the peeling wallpaper should have tipped me off. Maybe the plastic covered upholstery should have been a clue. Maybe I should have known: Modern Beauty Salon takes a more primitive approach. The stylist did everything but braid a bone into my hair.

The stylist who invited me into her chair apparently had no use for the typical tools of the trade. There wasn't a smock to be seen. She didn't have a comb. She didn't have a brush. She did have a pair of scissors, although they were badly in need of sharpening.

"Wow, your hair is thick!," she said, using both hands to try to pry off my precious locks.

Barely ten seconds had passed when the door was flung open.

"Can you buzz me?" screamed a seedy looking guy badly in need of a haircut.

Unlike me, the guy had come to the right place. The stylist was a passionate buzzer. After a few more half-hearted snips, she motioned for the desperate man to take my place. She was joyously revving up the buzzer before I was even out of the chair.

At five dollars, the cut would have easily qualified for Oberlin's best bargain if anything had been cut. No matter how I brush my hair, I can't find anything missing. I preened for my friends, who had little more success discerning the difference. My bangs, which are usually neatly squared, are still drooping into a trapezoid. Five dollars poorer, I still need a haircut.

Hanna Miller (Editor in Chief)

Quality of Cut:

Music: Q104
Magazines: GQ, various women's magazines
Price: $13.75

I cannot compare Aries to other salons because I have never been in others, nor can I rate the gossip. But it is not nearly as comfortable as the barbershop that I go to in my hometown and no, there is no "who's the best sports team" debate.

Ever since I was a wee little freshman, I always got my haircut by Laura at Aries. By chance my first-year, I was preparing for Drag Ball on the Saturday of the event, and I went down to the 'Sco and none other than Laura prepared my wig for me.

I walk into the establishment and say "Hi" to the receptionist at the desk, who acts like she owns the place and probably does. Immediately Laura greets me with a nice smile and we sit down and talk about my hair style.

I haven't been to any other hair shop in Ohio, but Aries seems fairly clean. However, it could definitely use some venting, because my eyes are bloodshot from the many hair products (that are probably cancerous) when I leave. An unpleasant pink dominates the salon's decor,while a feminine mystique and cheap perfume lightens the air. It is a "salon," with salon-style blow dryers, women in curls reading magazines and presumably gossiping.

In the background, Q104 spills out Ani and Third Eye Blind. I could grab a copy of GQ, but I am usually so stressed that I just space out and introspect about the day. Laura provides some casual outside-of-Oberlin questions and asks me simple questions.

This time, I just wanted a trim.

Fortunately for me Laura knows style; this weekend she is going to a hairstylist convention in Chicago with 50,000 hairstylists and she will find out, if she is not brainwashed first, The New Look.

She is always praising the few Oberlin students she sees around campus, who actually do have style and are hip to the new fashions.

Laura shampoos my hair halfway through the cut, so my hair's oil and dirt don't mess up the fade of my sides or her clippers. For a shampoo, I have to pay an extra $2. But it's worth it.

I know what a good haircut looks like. My hair is hard to cut and Laura does a great job. After my haircut, I get a lot more female attention, but that could also be because I wait so long before getting one.

-Jeff Glickman Sports Editor

Quality of Cut:

Music: talk, classic rock
Magazines: wide selection
Price: $9-$13

Every town, large and small, is home to a traditional, gentleman's barber shop. At Oberlin, that shop is Manuel's.

Manuel had cut my hair twice before, so I knew what to expect. He usually likes you to make an appointment, but he always has plenty of openings. One of the things that I always found curious about Manuel's is that Manuel sits you down in his barber chair with your back to the mirror, so you cannot see what he is doing to your hair. If Manuel happens to make a significant error while sculpting your scalp, you won't find out until he is done.

The atmosphere at Manuel's is pretty laid-back. A green carpet covers the floor, and the walls are clad with faded wallpaper. It sort of reminded me of my basement. Manuel keeps the place pretty clean, with not too much hair in every crack and crevice. The right setting for a man to get a haircut.

"So, what are we doing?" asks Manuel after pinning the smock around my neck.

"Just a little off the sides, clean up the sides," I respond. Manuel went to work. He started with the electric clipper, tapering the sides of my hair. He switched back and forth between the clipper, and some more delicate scissor work. Manuel kept the air filled with some casual conversation.

We chatted about the radio station he had on. It was some talk show, but I found we had a common interest in classic rock. We discussed his interest in skating. He spends some time on the weekends working on his stride at Williams Ice Rink. The conversation drifted to our interest in sports, and I found out that Manuel is a big Nascar fan. "I am a Ford man," said Manuel.

I appreciated his efforts to converse. It helps you relax. I have been in more than one barber's chair where the barber and I don't exchange a single word, and it makes for an uncomfortable haircut.

After he was done, Manuel used a vacuum to clean the hair off my smock, and then presented me with a hand held mirror. I checked out the cut, and approved. He gave me just what I requested: short on the sides, and leave the top long. A closer inspection back at my dorm would show that he could have done a little better with my sideburns. They are uneven, but acceptable. Overall, I was satisfied with my cut.

-Ben Clark Sports Editor

Sure, the salons mentioned in this feature are valuable components of the Oberlin fashion-industrial complex, vital cogs in the machine that is Oberlin's economy, but to ignore the underground haircutting network will hardly do.

Do you remember when you were little, sitting on the toilet lid with newspapers scattered all over the floor and your dad standing there with construction paper scissors in one hand and the bowl for your head in the other? That's the underbelly of haircutting, the alternative economy. There was no way you'd get Dad to shell out even nine bucks at Bo Rics for a seven year-old's haircut. But now, in the lean wallet days of working through our education, many of us can't justify spending between 10 and 20 dollars on some professional snippage.

This refusal to pay for expensive haircuts culminates in the same way generation after generation: some of us learn to cut hair, and some of us go to those neophytes as they learn. These are our friends who cut hair, our neighbors in dorms and co-ops. They instill in us a sense of the value of a practical skill. The world will always need doctors, mechanics and hair dressers. And the economy set up around their services is informative and fun as well. Haircuts can be had in exchange for food, an old CD, a few bucks or even traded for your own services. If the students stylist in question is your close friend, congratulations: you have free haircuts as long as you're both in town.

Unfortunately, all of the people who've cut my hair in my time at Oberlin are abroad now, no doubt giving affordable quality service to our friends in Japan, Venezuela and Great Britain. The fun of going into the bathroom with a radio, getting a hair cut and hanging out with my friend Liz (who also cut my housemates' heads of hair) is an all too distant memory. Imagine the shallow banter of the hair salon replaced with the engaging discussion of a friend, and you'll find yet another benefit to this system.

True, students are not professional hairdressers, and they will probably make mistakes, but are you satisfied with salon cuts 100% of the time? And what about the excitement of taking the gamble? Some people fly to Vegas for this type of action. Yes, they will mess up at first, but the friends who have cut my hair all became very proficient, and were soon in high demand.

This is not a complaint about hair salons in Oberlin, not a cry to "stick it to the man," as these businesses, like all other local establishments, should be supported. What this is, is a call to rally behind the haircutting entrepreneurs who are not only trying to support themselves on their own terms, but are providing good services at low cost. Capitalism? You bet. But extractive, oppressive? No way. Support your aspiring hairdressers, Oberlin; they're doing it for you.

-Mike Kabakoff (Photographer)