You show your barber a picture of Drake's fade. Fresh. Clean. Geometric perfection. He looks at it once. He nods. "I can do that." Famous last words. Two hours later, you look like a geometry problem that failed. The fade is not faded; it is a cliff. The lineup is not straight; it is abstract art. Your head has become a cautionary tale. But the mirror is behind you. The barber is smiling. "You like am?" He has already taken your money. Your dignity is optional. The Nigerian barber confidence is unmatched. They have never seen a style they cannot attempt. They have never met a texture they cannot "manage." They will ruin your hair with the smile of someone who believes they have improved you. "This one fine pass the picture," they will say, while you stare at your reflection in horror. And the walk of shame! You leave the shop with a cap. You wear the cap for three weeks. You tell people you're "trying a new look." You avoid cameras. You avoid mirrors. You avoid your own mother, who will laugh for 20 minutes straight. But you return. Not to the same barber — never to the same barber — but to another barber who also says "I can do that." The cycle continues. The hope never dies. The hair grows back. This is the Nigerian barber experience. What's the worst haircut you've ever received? And how long did you wear a cap to recover?
