You and your hair: you two make a great couple.
When you need to run your fingers through something, it’s always been there for you—even when they weren’t technically your fingers.
But every four to six weeks, you know how things get. You have to show it who’s boss.
So you call a fixer—or what some call a barber. Like this: Chicago Barbershop, an old-school neighborhood clip joint, now open in Bucktown.
Truth be told, you may already know the faces behind these antique barber chairs. The owner was one of the original barbers at the nationally heralded Belmont Barbershop. After seven years there, he’s decided to get back to his roots—well, actually, your roots—with a lower-profile place.
The shop is a simple affair. Barber pole. Vintage sci-fi movie poster. Oddball collection of vinyl (John Lee Hooker, Black Sabbath) spinning on the record player. Typical Floyd the Barber stuff.
You know the drill. Call. Get an appointment. Or don’t. Either way, he or one of his two tattooed compatriots (also Belmont Barbershop alums) will get your hair tapered, trimmed, sideburned and otherwise as high and tight as current law permits.
And when you need a chin as smooth as possible, they’ll whip out towels, hot lather and straight razors, and beat your whiskers into submission.
Or simply shave them.
When you need to run your fingers through something, it’s always been there for you—even when they weren’t technically your fingers.
But every four to six weeks, you know how things get. You have to show it who’s boss.
So you call a fixer—or what some call a barber. Like this: Chicago Barbershop, an old-school neighborhood clip joint, now open in Bucktown.
Truth be told, you may already know the faces behind these antique barber chairs. The owner was one of the original barbers at the nationally heralded Belmont Barbershop. After seven years there, he’s decided to get back to his roots—well, actually, your roots—with a lower-profile place.
The shop is a simple affair. Barber pole. Vintage sci-fi movie poster. Oddball collection of vinyl (John Lee Hooker, Black Sabbath) spinning on the record player. Typical Floyd the Barber stuff.
You know the drill. Call. Get an appointment. Or don’t. Either way, he or one of his two tattooed compatriots (also Belmont Barbershop alums) will get your hair tapered, trimmed, sideburned and otherwise as high and tight as current law permits.
And when you need a chin as smooth as possible, they’ll whip out towels, hot lather and straight razors, and beat your whiskers into submission.
Or simply shave them.
