For any kid growing up, a major milestone in their life is the first haircut – for today’s kids, that might mean getting to sit in car shaped chair, while the hairdresser performs their magic. In some cultures, it’s a quite a big deal. For young boys in the Cook Islands, for example, it is a major ceremony where the boy sits on a chair draped with quilts while members of the community plaster him with money or other gifts.
Although the Cook Islands share a free association with my home country of New Zealand, my early haircuts carried none of those traditions – no quilts, no gifts, and no money. It was, however in my mother’s memory, quite a big spectacle. Although I have no memories of the “trauma” of getting my hair cut, I just screamed and screamed. They told my mother to bring me back on Wednesday afternoon, when it wasn’t so busy.

They were right – on Wednesday afternoon, it was not crowded at all. In fact, when my mother brought me back, she saw a sign on the door. What did the sign say? “Wednesday: Closed”. As a result, my mother decided to just cut my hair herself.
As I got older, I was better able to tolerate going to the hair dresser, but it was still not a fun experience. The hardest thing about getting a haircut for any kid (and especially a neurodivergent kid)? Holding still! Sitting in that chair for what seemed like hours while the hairdresser (who was usually a lady) would snip away at my bangs, making me look acceptable again while my mother would tell me to stop twisting and squirming. Finally, the hairdresser would hold up the mirror so I could see the back of my head – something that I did not care much for myself, but it meant the whole ordeal was over.
Throughout the 90s, I often sported a bowl cut, for various reasons – family legend states that my mother still has the bowl she once used – and I was occasionally picked on in school (as in, picked on more than usual) for it, but typical of people on the spectrum, I was hesitant to change. In high school, the bowl cut finally gave way to other styles, though I did not always participate in the decision making. For a while in my senior year, for various reasons, it even grew quite long and got in my eyes (which I absolutely hated) and I was often begging my parents to set me up for a hair appointment.
After high school, I was off on my own and in college, partaking in the activity known as “adulting”, such as preparing my own meals, knowing how to use a credit card, and of course getting a haircut. To this day a trip to the barbershop results still in that difficult decision of what style to get, especially when it involve going to a barbershop where “just the usual” is not always an option.

Getting a haircut was just one thing I hated as a child, but what other things I hated. In a previous post I mentioned that I initially hated birthday parties, because of the singing, and what happens when you combine haircuts and singing? Barbershop music.
It was at an autism talent show hosted by the local Center for Autism and Related Disabilities office where I discovered that the local chapter of the Barbershop Harmony Society was performing, and among their members was a young man on the spectrum – he did not talk much, but he did know how to sing, and when it came to knowing the words and notes to every song the chorus performed, he knew it all. For those who were unaware, Barbershop is a style of four-part harmony that has its roots in the era when the local barbershop was a more than a place to get a haircut (and in the early days, medical procedures), it was a social hub.
Thinking that singing for others might actually be fun, I later went to one of their rehearsals. It was there that I met a bunch of fun-loving guys from all kinds of backgrounds who loved to sing and like a new student attending Hogwarts for the first time (Ravenclaw for life!), the director found that I fit well into the bass section. Amidst ringing chords, banter, and the occasional Dad joke, we had a great time . I even had the opportunity to sing in a quartet with that young man on the autism spectrum, including at subsequent autism talent shows and made some great friends doing it.
In conclusion, if you’ve looking for a way to make new friends in a supportive and inclusive environment – most chapters welcome ladies too) – as a “social hub” barbershop might be the answer. Just don’t ask any of them to give you a haircut, as they probably won’t do a very good job, and with that, on this April 11, I wish you all a happy National Barbershop Quartet Day!