Blindness has traditionally been auspiscious for prophets but not so much for barbers. Tiresias could divine the future but he couldn’t give a close fade worth shit. 

So I entered the Blind Barber, a barbershop/speakeasy in the East Village (though they also just opened a Los Angeles version) with trepidation. Thankfully, all barbers there are seeing. There are two chairs up front and a full bar behind the curtain. Like a mullet, it’s all business in the front and party in the back. 

These days you can judge a hipster barbershop by the density or tattoos on the barber’s arms and the incident of mustache on his face. Rob, my barber at BB, had both tattoos and a mustache. 

But it’s not all pretense. Rob is a second generation barber from Youngstown, OH; he competed in the Golden Gloves as a young man (Youngstown is the home of Kelly “The Ghost” Pavlik); and he knows his way around a straight razor or two. 

Importantly Rob offered a cocktail (it comes with the cut!). Toward the end of my time in his chair, he smooshed some pomade in my hair. This is the next evolution of the shop: products. The wax he used comes in two strenghts: 60 and 90. Being a man who prefers his hair product like he does his drink, I went with the stronger hold. 

And when I left the Blind Barber, I have to admit, I was looking pretty good.