The Black Barbershop

Greetings and salutations!!

Today ,I’m going to talk about the complex relationship that a black man has with the black barbershop.

First things first. I think I had a pic up for this blog. I wish to confirm that I am black. Or, if you want to be PC about it, Afro-Canadian. I prefer to be known as black.

It’s hard to describe the cultural significance of the black barber and black people and their hair. Suffice it to say, it can be fraught with peril, and not to be discussed by people who have no idea what they are talking about, and haven’t lived it.

The black barber is a place where black folk can be themselves. Where they can talk to an audience that gets them. Yes, there IS an audience, LOL. Everyone waiting, the barbers and the people getting their hair cut will all have something to say about…well, about anything! Politics, sports, music, Bill Cosby, you name it, it’ll be discussed. It is a safe place.

I’ve been going to the same barbershop now for close to 25 years, or more than half my life. The place is an institution in Toronto. While some shops may be different, here you have your own barber. He’s your guy. There are no appointments. You walk in, and wait for your barber to call you up (which will happen depending on how many of his other clients are ahead of you.)

Now, if you can’t wait? YOU LEAVE and come back. I can’t emphasize this enough. The thought of going to another barber while yours is in the store, with another client is NOT DONE. Changing barbers outside of an egregious sin on their part IS NOT DONE. If you think I’m joking? I’ve had 3 barbers in that store because 2 of my previous ones DIED.

The black barbershop is a melting pot of church, gossipping ladies, book club, neighbourhood watch, and BLM meeting all at once. It’s a place to be comfortable, and comforted. To be sheltered and challenged. If you’re black, that is.

As with any other cultural gathering, however informal it may be, there are rules, both unspoken and unwritten. The black barbershop doesn’t get many white people. Oh, we get a few, but things change. It becomes a quieter, as if we don’t want to give away state secrets to the enemy. More patois is spoken, so we can talk without being understood.

Oh yes. And if you’re straight. The black barbershop can be a bastion of sexism, and homophobic behaviour–where conspiracy theories run riot, and where being different, for whatever reason, is not allowed. Offensive words and phrases can be tossed around casually.

At the end of the day, it’s complicated. I’ve gotten used to saying that recently.

For what it’s worth, they know my hair, and the trials and tribulations that all black men go along with having black mens hair.