Before I’d even sat down, my stylist asked me for my number. I was taken aback, not because she wasn’t my type or anything – a motherly Russian lady with hairy arms – butin my 30 plus years of having my hair cut, I’d never been asked to give my number.

Not that I never wanted them to ask for my number. Especially Janet, who worked at Freddy & Liana’s in Westwood ^[1]. She was a ringer for Winona Ryder, making me a repeat customer. It didn’t hurt that she continued to give me the college student discount after I finally fessed up that I wasn’t a UCLA student. (I’m kind of a cheap bastard, and while I never said I was a student, I’d mention that I’d walked over “from campus,” where I’d do story research at the library and visit the student union arcade). I digress…

Truth be told, Aunt Olga at Fantastic Sams wasn’t asking for my phone number, she wanted to know which clipper she should use. I was still offended – has a cheap haircut come down to something as personal as this? What happened to, “how would you like your hair cut?”

It turned out I was a “3,” which Olga reminded me as I took a last look at the finished product. All that and only $15. I was in the chair for less than five minutes. I was tempted to tip her $2, and tell her that was her number, but I gave her $5 to make my total bill an even $20.

Since I’m at a loss for a better closing sentence, any suggestions for cheap haircuts with hot stylists around Los Angeles?

Related posts:

1. Girlie Hair on Fridays! ^[2]
2. Bigots have rights too. ^[3]
3. Where Do You Get Inked? A Follow Up ^[4]