The last male space - why old-fashioned barbers are booming

For 14 years only one man has cut my hair. Actually, that is not strictly true. Last year I went elsewhere and I felt like a husband visiting a prostitute for the first time. It made me realise how attached I’d become to my barber, Kyri, a Greek Cypriot with a shop in Kensal Rise. I’ve been with him longer than any relationship, my marriage and most of my friendships. It was the nearest barber’s to my first flat in London. Since then I’ve moved further and further away but I always make the journey back to get my hair cut.

Over the years Kyri has become a friend and a confidant. When I’ve had problems with work, relationships or family, it’s with him that I talk most openly. Visits to the shop take the place of therapy. Our relationship was cemented when in 2005 I had to undergo chemotherapy. Before I started treatment, Kyri shaved my head. There were no tears but it was a touching moment. He called a couple of times when I was in hospital pretending to check up on whether my hair growing back, ‘protecting his investment’ as he called it. Thankfully the treatment was successful and my hair grew back thicker than ever. We often talk about going for a curry with other customers, or visiting his family in Barnet (it’s almost too perfect that my barber lives in Barnet) for a barbeque, but nothing ever comes of it. I think we both worry that without the chair, mirror and scissors between us, we might not have anything in common.