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Sherman Billingsley

Strok4

With another semester in the books and my vacation not really starting until tomorrow, earlier this week I was lucky enough to have a few free days to simply do nothing.  I decided to spend my time checking in a few places I haven’t been able to get to over the past few months, and while visits to the Rhinelander Mansion and C.H.C.M. were as enjoyable as ever, as I moved through the rest of the muddled world of New York retail, something hit me that I hadn’t really pieced together until now.  Even before I moved to the city I recall reading about this new phenomenon of “bespoke barbers” and “faux-speakeasies” and I’ll admit I found the idea of a nostalgia based somewhat intriguing, but since I’ve been living here, I think the whole market has just turned a bit ridiculous.  There’s now countless places across the city where you can get a sixty dollar haircut from a guy in a waistcoat and an upturned moustache, or grab an old-fashioned for twenty bucks in a dimly lit hole in the wall lined with books that no one’s read in thirty years.  You walk in expecting that good ol’ gentleman’s club vibe, but it never really winds up being what you’re looking for anyway, and more often than not that only feeling you have walking out is regret over a freshly emptied wallet.

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