This past Saturday I went to a man-spa for a haircut.

Man-spa is not its real name, its real name is a French word that I cannot pronounce with funny symbols above specific letters in its name. I have been to this man-spa before for other types of man-spa treatments but I am no longer secure enough in my manliness to have these other treatments done to me in a public place whose name I cannot enunciate.

Sitting in the man-spa is a very manly experience for the man who wishes to feel pretty. They offer you latt├ęs, cappuccinos and water that comes in oddly shaped bottles that look expensive. The waiting room smells of musk and leather, I think it might be burning candles. The magazine collection is a mixture of sports, cars, and man-style fashion magazines; think Vanity Fair for men. Vanity Fair is a magazine that men and women can both read, right? Nonetheless I pick up a copy of Esquire magazine and read an article about how Robert Downy Jr. is the second best actor in America. Never did find out who number one was.

The receptionist tells me that my stylist, Jess, will be right out. Jess? An androgynous, transgendered name…that always makes me uncomfortable. Not that I care if a man or woman cuts my hair; its the not knowing of who will walk around the corner to meet me. Ok Jess is a girl, a good-looking non-confusing gender of a woman. Don’t judge me, its a man-spa, I am here for the experience.

I explain the haircut that I want to Jess. It’s a mixture of Buddhist monk meets Brad Pitt haircut in Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Jess calls it a buzz cut and places a number four guard on her clippers and within ten minutes I can see the white dome of my skull.

Next, the man-spa treatments that I am secure enough to treat myself to--scalp message with a hot towel wrapped around my face. The next three minutes with Jess are blissful.