Toastmaster Tom Part 4 by Doug

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Toastmaster Tom Part 4: Budgetary Crisis and Back to The Future
As the Lucky Tiger did its thing, I enjoyed having more texture in my hair than I had ever had. When I was studying or reading, I caught myself with one hand regularly swiping my hand up the front to make sure there was no hint of sag and then lightly tapping my deck from the top. I loved sensing the flatness and the way the bristles resisted like the top of a paintbrush when I pushed down. My head had turned into a built-in fidget spinner, always something nice to "doodle" with when I was thinking. I also found that I couldn’t stand to wait more than two weeks between cuts because I started to feel "sloppy"—quite the change from long hair that could go for a few months (although that’s also what I hated about the look—my fine, straight hair just never seemed neat and controlled enough for my taste).

Unfortunately, my new taste in precision cuts was not matching my student budget. I was working two jobs and had committed to my parents that I would cover half my university costs. I had allocated $12 x 9 haircuts per year (about one every six weeks), or $108. My new habit was chewing through $15/cut (flattop premium was still posted in that shop) every two weeks. That put me at $390 per year total, or a budget deficit of $282. Doesn’t sound like much, but back then I was making $3.40/hour and working 25 hours or so a week between the jobs. Hitting my goal there would have meant an extra 3.3 weeks of work, and I just didn’t have the ability to add any more work hours to my life. But in the short run, I couldn’t help myself. I had to feel those clippers run up my nape every two weeks. I couldn’t stand it if the sides softened at all to the touch or if the top threatened to sag even a millimeter off 90 degrees from the floor. So as I handed Bill money I didn’t have, I kept thinking about a way to sustain the pacing of the cuts.

After my third tune up, Bill handed me my glasses and asked, "Where are you at with your glasses? Is it close to replacement time?"

I was kind of surprised by the question. "Yeah, I’ve got an appointment coming up at the optical place down the street. Why? Don’t like my frames? Never had a barber take notice of that before!"

He laughed. "No, they’re fine—it’s just that you seem pretty committed to your flatty and honestly, they just don’t match. If you had kept the punk rocker length I wouldn’t have said anything, but I think these mess up your authentic look. If I were you I’d look for some plastic frames, and something with either a straight-top or classic browline—something boxy. Either of those options are going to have a more flat, horizonal emphasis—especially if the corners have a line or a plus at the hinge—and those are going make your deck look even straighter and crisp. All my young flatties with glasses back in the day went with those frames because they completed the look. If you’re going retro, go retro. Just a thought. See you in two!"

As I walked home I was thinking how ironic it was that Bill thought my frames didn’t fit my new look. Vision insurance was a fairly new benefit from my dad’s employer at the time. Although it sounded like you could get a free pair of lenses every year and a free pair of frames every two years, in reality the selection of "free" lenses and frames left much to be desired. Dorky plastic frames and clear glass lenses were your only option in the free category. Anything better meant forking out more money. My parents were of the mindset with all of the kids that they’d provide the free stuff but you had to earn the fashion part of an eyeglasses purchase. In high school I saved enough money to buy wire frames and lighter, tinted plastic lenses—and I realized with a flash that my master budget included $250 to keep my next eyeglasses on trend. Maybe going retro might allow me to lose the premium there so I could keep my new buzzing habit unfettered.

When I went to my eye appointment the following week, I was a little sweaty thinking about the social impact of really going retro with the eyewear. When the exam was over and I started looking at frames, I asked the optometrist to suggest a few frames. He gave me a look and said, "Well, you may not like this but if you want some frames that will match that hairstyle of yours well, I’d suggest plastic—and something that squares off well with the top." (Hmmm. Interesting match with what Bill had said.)

I said, "Okay, show me some options. Are they in the ‘free’ section or is there an insurance premium on them?"

"Most of them are in the free section, so let’s start with those. I think you might find one there that will work fine for you." He started pulling boxes and I could see some heavy. boxy frames sticking out. After setting out a few, he said, "I’m looking for one that I think would really work well—it’s up here somewhere. Ah, here we go."

He pulled out a classic pair of brimline plastic frames—I remembered seeing pictures of my dad with a pair like that back before I was born. They were close to my hair color across the top, but then faded to a light tan in the lower half of the frame. "Try these on—they’re kind of matching your longer, darker deck with your shorter, lighter sides and back. Yes! I think those really play into your flattop."

I looked in the mirror and he was absolutely right. A black and white photo of me at that moment would have fit in any 1959 yearbook. Is that what I really wanted to project? "Are these no upcharge frames?" I asked.

"Absolutely! You want to keep looking or have we found a match?"

I decided to keep looking, including some upcharge frames with a more modern look. But I kept going back to those frames—they just seemed to complete my look, just like Bill said they would. Now we had to talk lenses.

"What kind of lenses can I put in these without an extra charge?" I asked.

"I’m afraid clear glass is still the only type covered by insurance," he replied. "But honestly, other than being heavier, they still give you the best vision of any options I sell. That means you’ll be pushing them up on your nose more often, especially in hot weather. Or you add one of these nifty bands and they’ll never move a bit." He pulled a classic adjustable elastic band from a small box on the shelf and attached them to the frame ear pieces. "Here, try these on."

I slipped the glasses on over my head and he leaned behind me and tightened the band until I could feel it hugging the back of my head. It was a kind of reassuring feeling, although I knew my nerd quotient had just gone up 500%. I moved my head back and forth quickly and the frames stayed stuck in place. The band might be goony, but it definitely worked.

"It’s funny," he said. "Back in the late 60s I’d sell these whenever a boy got his first pair of glasses. And if the kid had short hair, I’d tell the mom to keep the back short so the band didn’t get pinched in their hair. And if a kid came in with long hair, I’d suggest to the mom that he’d be better off if she shortened up the back quite a bit because he won’t like it pulling on the long hair back there. I don’t think it really mattered that much, but I was a fan of short hair and couldn’t stand to see the boys getting moppier every year. I counted it a victory every time a boy came in for his second exam with hair that was shorter than when he came in with his first. Not sure I was very popular with the boys, but I think I singlehandedly slowed down the shift to long hair around here—at least for boys with glasses! Of course, plastic lenses eventually killed that once the boys didn’t need the elastic straps any more. Well, with that haircut I don’t think you need to worry about a band pinching much of anything back there. And I mean that as a compliment!"

In for a dime, in for a dollar, I thought. "I’ll take these frames with clear glass lenses and a strap I guess, then." And I walked out of there with enough saved money to keep up with those 2-week interval flattops. I was beginning to think I had lost my mind. I’d really know for sure when I came back in five days to pick up the frames. Might not get another date for the rest of my life, I thought—but it didn’t shift my decision.

When the frames were in, it took the optometrist a few minutes to adjust the earpieces and make sure they were straight before he attached the elastic strap and handed them back to me for a test drive. Once again I slipped them on and he leaned behind and expertly pulled the elastic tight. They were definitely the heaviest glasses I had ever owned, but my eyesight wasn’t too bad yet and the lenses were still thin enough to not overpower the frame. However, I was definitely not going to be able to avoid wearing the strap if I didn’t want to spend every 30 seconds pushing the glasses back up my nose. With the lenses in the frames, my retro look was truly complete. I walked out feeling amazingly well put together. No movement in my hair, no shifting of my glasses, warm sun on my lightly covered scalp. Cleaner and neater than I’d ever felt—there was something to this that I had never experienced growing up during the casual 70s, and I liked it.

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