追記 日本 德國 理髮 經驗
About a decade and a half ago, when I was fresh out of college, I moved to Cairo to do a fellowship with a nonprofit. Shortly after my arrival, I strolled into a barbershop in the verdant district of Zamalek, in the center of the city. After a buzz on each side and a trim on top, the barber frowned at my complexion and lunged for a skin-whitening serum. Astonished and offended, I deflected the barber, only for him to suggest a round of eyebrow threading.
For a few years this was an anecdote I’d tell people, a lesson in the disaster that might come from messing around with an unknown barber. It hit a nerve. For myself and many of my male friends, barber-loyalty runs deep: We are as faithful as we would be to a therapist. But as time went on, I began to think about that encounter differently. The barber’s suggestion was deeply offensive; but it was also a window into Egyptians’ concept of male beauty. I’d later learn that this aesthetic was called nazif, which loosely translates to “neat” or “presentable.” What if, I wondered, I had at least been curious enough to ask questions?
What I love most about barbershops is their invitation to curiosity in a world where the men they serve are isolated and fragmented. Barbershops are spaces where I’ve encountered tender scenes and surprising intimacies of male life: fathers bringing sons for their first haircuts, men of all ages working through the things of life — children, work, money, school, marriage. Barbershops are a place where I encounter a more complex version of masculinity than the caricature that has captured public attention in recent years.
There are few sites as instructive about a local culture — and what it considers “masculine” — as a barbershop. A little self-deprecation, and a willingness to cross language barriers, is usually enough to join conversations that reveal things about a city’s customs and political moods that you might otherwise miss. The Cairene barber’s suggestion of eyebrow threading, for instance, forced me to notice the meticulous care young men in the city took of their appearance — the perfect fades, shaped beards, curly comb-overs held in place by creams and gels, all of it hinting at an obsession with presentability. A barbershop, I began to see, is a place where we learn to notice elements of culture that might otherwise go unnoticed by an outsider.
想知道男人在想什麼？去剪個頭髮吧。
你在理髮店裡看到的男性形象，遠比男性圈裡呈現的刻板印象複雜得多。
大約十五年前，我剛從大學畢業，就搬到開羅，在非營利組織當研究員。抵達不久後，我漫步走進市中心綠樹成蔭的紮馬萊克區的一家理髮店。理髮師剃了兩邊的頭髮，修剪了一下頭頂，然後皺著眉頭看著我的膚色，伸手去拿美白精華液。我既驚訝又生氣，拒絕了理髮師，但他建議我修眉。
有好幾年，我都會把這件事當成一個故事講給別人，告誡他們不要隨便找個陌生的理髮師，否則可能會釀成大禍。這件事觸動了我的痛處。我和我的許多男性朋友對理髮師的忠誠度都非常高：我們對理髮師的忠誠程度堪比對心理諮商師的忠誠。但隨著時間的推移，我對那次經歷的看法改變了。理髮師的建議固然冒犯，但也讓我得以窺見埃及人眼中的男性美。後來我才知道，這種美感叫做「納齊夫」（nazif），大致可以翻譯為「整潔」或「得體」。我不禁想，如果我當時至少夠好奇，問些問題，結果會怎麼樣呢？
我最喜歡理髮店的地方在於，在這個男性群體相對孤立和分散的世界裡，理髮店鼓勵人們保持好奇心。在理髮店裡，我邂逅了許多溫馨的場景和男性生活中令人驚訝的親密瞬間：父親帶著兒子第一次理髮，各個年齡段的男人們在這裡處理著生活中的種種瑣事——孩子、工作、金錢、學業、婚姻。理髮店讓我接觸到一種比近年來大眾所關注的刻板印象更為複雜的男性氣質。
很少有地方比理髮店更能展現當地文化及其對「男性氣質」的理解。只需一點自嘲，並願意跨越語言障礙，通常就足以加入對話中，從而揭示出一些你可能忽略的城市風俗和政治氛圍。例如，開羅理髮師建議修眉，這讓我注意到城裡的年輕男性對自己外表的精心打理——完美的漸變髮型、修剪整齊的鬍鬚、用髮蠟和髮膠固定的捲曲梳背頭，這一切都暗示著他們對儀容的執著。我開始意識到，理髮店是一個讓我們學會觀察文化元素的地方，而這些元素對外來者來說可能很容易被忽略。
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