A medium-sized flat-screen TV is sitting up in the corner while a March Madness game between Ohio State and Michigan is being played. The volume is turned up loud, and the persistent sound of 20 sneakers squeaking over hardwood nearly dominates the play-by-play.
But nobody’s watching it.
Instead, they’re preoccupied with something “P” did. Laughing wildly, and doing their best impressions of him.
Meanwhile a hand applies pressure. And the blades do their work. Clippers buzz and hum. Click on, and off again. Buzz, hum. Click on, then off again. As conversation carries on in the foreground.
A boar-bristle brush moves neatly across curl patterns. Laying waves in place. Preparing the way for the buzzing clippers to carve out deep, cascading ridges.
There’s a subtle chish-chish as the bristles sift through hairs. Like the sound of a push broom sweeping over a smooth, dusty concrete floor. The blades are adjusted. Lines are cut. Alternate clippers take over and the brush returns—revealing immaculate fades.
A pair of boys are fussing over something by the storefront windows while afternoon traffic races by on the other side. We’re gathered in a shop, positioned on a slope, just outside the foot of the Hill District in Pittsburgh.
The chairs inside weigh a ton. Carrying clients and their expectations. Sons and brothers. Filled with countless nodes of Black American arcana. As a slew of tools are used in concert; exchanging passes at the temples, around the ears and below the crown.
Sometimes it’s like alchemy is being done in here. And every week, or two weeks, the entire process is repeated without fail.
They’re architects – occupying a space between art and design.
Their place of business has a distinctive milieu. They’ve been described as safe and therapeutic. They’ve been to Hollywood. LeBron James and company brought them to HBO.
They manufacture luxury—in its most honest, immediate, and accessible form. Like a testament to the edict that we are “created … in his own image.”
Reformed appearances are held into mirrors. A quiet sense of righteousness settles into the air. Dead presidents and daps exchange hands, we depart, and the day begins anew.
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Zion Adissem is a writer and YSU alumnus currently living in Pittsburgh. His writing ruminates on his experiences with cultures and people, traveling to cool places, and always finding something good to eat. Past projects include the development of the metro30 podcast. Discover more of Zion’s work and subscribe to his newsletter at endnotes.substack.com….
(Photograph by Nasir H. Watson-Walker)
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