F. Flittner a Gentleman's Barber

Today I felt that I’d gone back in time. For an all too short period, I went back to my Dad’s youth, or at least how I imagine it.

Today I went for a haircut!

How exciting is that?

Okay it’s not exciting at all, especially when you are like me and there are far too few hairs still clinging on, so few that I’ve been able to name them! Put it this way when I returned to the office and announced that I’d been to the barbers, Mick shouted,” really, is that all? Why were you gone so long then? Was there a big queue?”

In the past, when I’ve needed a hair cut, I have gone to Supercuts in Liverpool Street Station. This is a perfectly acceptable chain of hairdressers and you simply queue up and get your hair trimmed. This piece is in no way supposed to demean or ridicule the ladies who work there as there is nothing at all wrong with their work.

Today I didn’t have time to head over there and had remembered seeing a barber’s pole sticking up over a small shop near Moorgate. It was a moment of real time travel as I approached the barber’s window. I felt the years fly back as I looked in through the frosted Salon doors. The window was not a huge transparent advert where everyone could be seen in their chairs, but a means to show the various tools of their trade and the history of an independent barbers open since 1904.

The small saloon style doors opened into a world that Marty McFly would describe as ‘heavy’! The smell of disinfectant, hair and hair spray hit me square between the eyes as they struggled to adjust to the early 1900’s. The surprisingly spacious room was filled in every available inch with ancient looking hairdressing equipment. F. Flittner Gent’s hairdressers’ is exactly that, a Gent’s hairdresser. This is no place for a woman; a man can come here and relax as though in some Masonesque gentleman’s parlour.

The yellow ceiling betrayed the years of cigar and pipe smoke that will have been happily created here as the men sat back and relaxed. The ancient and chipped wooden panelling that surrounded every piece of worn out furniture had last been restored in 1949 and the gels and styling products that lined the shelves appeared to have been stacked there at the same time.

It was wonderful, and the genuinely authentic feeling of craftsmanship that this salon radiated left me in no doubt that I was going to get a good haircut today. So complete was the imagery that I found myself asking if I would be able to pay by card. I was so certain that they would only take cash, or possibly potatoes, as payment that I was quite embarrassed when I was shown the small, brand new shelf that had been erected to hold the state of the art card reader.

With a smile on my face, I sat and relaxed as a man who has probably celebrated at least two millennium eve parties wrapped a cloth around me and asked what I was there for. It was just then that I noticed the sign that showed the prices and a very alien sensation came over me. Normally when a buzz cut trim on my head costs anything over £10 I get a sweat on, if it’s over £12 I walk out. Today I looked and had a moment’s hesitation when I saw that this was going to cost a massive £16. but the moment passed as I thought to myself ‘no, why should a skilled barber, with so many years experience in a small independent barbers like this, have to try and compete with the modern bright lights in the chains of today? Why should he have to charge the same as a youngster, barely out of college?’ My brain could come up with no answer and so I relaxed back and let him get on with it.

I was not wrong in my assumptions either. My barber had been working there in Flittner’s for over 30 years as had most of the other barbers around him. These guys may not know what you mean if you go in asking for a ‘Flock of Seagulls’ (to show my own age) or a Hasselhoff, but when it comes to a short back and sides, you can’t touch them.

My man immediately set to work and proved his worth, by completely ignoring my request and just cutting my hair how he knew it would be right. He was right, it looks so much better than it usually does, how a buzz cut can differ so much I do not know, but it does – it looks great. This is the difference, this is what 30 years experience does, it allows you to feel how a head needs to be cut, rather than just cutting it how the book says. My man knew instantly which bits needed extra attention in order to make it right.

The difference was clear and I felt happier after a hair cut than I have for ages. With the shelves so packed full of old hair products, I felt sure I should be offered something for the weekend; maybe I don’t look old enough for those kinds of shenanigans. Perhaps I should have had a shave whilst I was there to further the feeling of time travel.

The only thing out of place was the music. It’s hard to sit back and pretend that you are your own Grandfather when Beyonce is ranting on about wanting a ring on it!