Men of Principle watched in agony as their portfolios tumbled amid the economic collapse of 2008. Their fortunes, built upon Greenspan-approved economic bedrock (in reality subrpime landfill), crumbled as Atlas Shrugged. In the ensuing panic, men resorted to desperate measures. The shantytowns of 2008 exist not in the city's outskirts, but in boarded up Netflix accounts, Budget Gourmet lunches, and -most disturbingly- in men taking their hair into their own hands.
I've seen this a few times, each time, it's in the proximity of 4 Embarcadero where I (Tommy La) sorta-work. Significance? The men I see who do this work here. The men who work here work in lucrative industries. You would think that even in the sharpest economic downturn someone, say a middle-aged attorney at an international firm, has enough disposable cash to cough up $10 at Ol' Slapdick's Barbershoppe. But ooooh no.
It's at the intersection of Robert Blake in Lost Highway, and Adam Haynd-Beard in Little Man Tate, this haircut. I accidentally gave myself one in 6th grade using kid-scissors (lefty). In lieu of the door-to-door routine, the state could mandate this haircut as satisfying the requirements for registered sex offenders to inform their community. This haircut would clear a playground.
Time's are Ford Tough. I feel awful for everyone nearing retirement who envision their golden years working at the golden arches. It's both frightening and emasculating. But please Men, hold it together. Hold onto your sideburns (and give the scissors back to Timmy).
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