A few days ago, my 12 year-old poked his head into my office to let me know that he needed a haircut—with his ears and eyes disappearing, I concurred. That meant a trip to the local barber shop that we’ve been frequenting for years. Thomas Barber shop has been cutting Buckhead boys’ hair for decades, with stickers from almost every local school plastered on the door. I can always expect to see someone I know there; and “Tommy” the barber knows everybody.
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By “everybody,” I mean every every big-wig—the CEO’s, athletes, and especially the politicians. Every candidate who wants to win Republican votes makes a point to stop in and pay homage to Tommy. A few years back, as I waited on my boys’ haircuts, a campaigning Brian Kemp strolled in—boots, jeans and all. He’s widely lamented around here now, having cratered local efforts to form Buckhead City, but back then his country gentleman vibe was right on brand with this beloved gathering spot. This barber shop is Trump country, but all are welcome to stop in; Tommy is friendly to everyone—even democrats.
As a result, the walls are crowded with political lore, sports paraphernalia and other signage bearing testimony to Tommy’s brand of celebrity—the ones that appeal to his conservative instincts, which are shared by those of the old-school Atlantans who form his customer base. There are autographed pictures of coaches, model trucks with corporate logos, and college football helmets lining the walls. A giant Coke sign still hangs there, and you can buy those perfectly cold and fizzy, bottled Cokes (“Co-Colas” if you’re an old Southerner) from a fridge by the door. Regardless of Coke’s woke political offenses, it is historically venerated in Tommy’s shop.
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The famous owner and his autographed pictures aren’t the only stars of this show. A long-running cast of barber-chair characters form part of the experience as well. The black shoe-shine man works quietly in his favorite bitcoin-themed shirt; a tiny and chattering Asian lady cuts regulars while perched in her platform shoes; the country-girl stylist grabs a cigarette on breaks; and a popular police officer, until recently, hung out by Tommy’s chair, reading the paper while ostensibly keeping us safe. One employee is particularly legendary for my family; “Swift” always spiffs up my sons’ fast-growing mops, enabling them to see teachers’ faces and baseball pitches again. His station is decked out with an “I love Jesus” needlepoint, a Semper Fi sticker and family photos—the secrets behind his great heart.
Things at the shop can get dramatic, indeed; on one occasion, the Asian stylist got into a loud and nasty argument with the country girl working at the neighboring chair. The gist of it was that the country girl was a Southern Baptist, and on that day, she wasn’t keen on the Asian lady’s religious opinions. As it turns out, country girl’s faith wasn’t of the turn-the-cheek variety; she answered her petite coworker with, ”I’ll kick your #$$” if you keep it up”—an interesting twist on the Southern Baptist vibe. Nobody seemed to notice or care, and haircuts continued uninterrupted.
