This morning's paper carries an article celebrating what is described as the "latest trend" from New York (very crucial for us to know, here in Southern California). This trend is "the outrageously overpriced haircut," and the article features someone named Mr. Pita, who reportedly charges $800 for a cut. Wow. This article, at half a page (including a large color picture of a bald, $500 hairdresser named Serge) is clearly way, way too short to give me all the details of this fascinating development.

Mr. Pita justifies his price tag by noting that, "Your hair is one of the first things people notice about you." OK. I guess. But is there a significant visual difference between, say, a $100 haircut and an $800 haircut? I'm assuming the actual value comes when you get to fake-complain to your friends about how much you paid. This is what rich, shallow people love to do: overpay, then brag under the guise of complaining. It's fun for them, because their complain-bragging... combragging... braglaining... I'll come up with it sooner or later, anyway, it affords their nouveau-riche, shallow friends an opportunity to list items and services for which THEY have overpaid, and they can all commiserate, with the unspoken understanding that their overpayment makes them superior. (Note that they always add, "But it was SO WORTH it..." because of some totally absurd reason, like it makes their eyes really stand out, or whatever.)

Another hairdresser, Sally Hershberger, who designed the gross Shih-Tzu Meg Ryan hairstyle (a bargain at $600) also justifies the price, saying that "hair is the first thing people notice." First of all, I'm not convinced that people "notice" hair first, and even if they do, so what? There will never be enough noticing for me to kick out $800 to some bald guy with a goatee just for the honor of having him rag on me for cutting my own bangs. (And yes, clearly I am not their target audience; I already know that.)

One time, seven or eight years ago, I was riding the bus in San Francisco, sitting near this deranged Japanese girl who I was avoiding eye contact with, because she used to come into the garden store where I worked and bother us by whining about how bad she was at ikebana and asking irrelevant questions. She was sitting with a friend of hers who was complaining about her haircut which, to me, looked perfectly unremarkable. She had long, straight black hair, angled softly on either side of her face. It was on the "attractive" side of "unremarkable."

"I don't like what she did with my hair," the friend was saying.

"How much did you pay?" asked the deranged girl.

"A hundred dollars," said the other.

The deranged girl shrugged and said, unsympathetically, "You get what you pay for."

"I know..." the other one took the hit, and seemed ashamed.

I don't think a hundred-dollar haircut constituted a real bargain in 1997. Or, you know, now. A hundred dollars would buy about five Keelhauler haircuts, even more if he goes to the "Mexican Lady."

I am going to have to re-think my great plan of living in New York, unless I save up a tremendous amount of cash, or wear a bag on my head to deflect the looks of scorn. Eight hundred dollars is a lot of money. "But," says Mr. Pita, "so is five, six, seven hundred dollars." I guess, hearing it put that way, it really does make sense.

Star of the day. . .Warren Beatty