Reinvention

My new hair stylist is a guy named Armani. I chose a salon on my route back and forth to work and figured I'd give it a shot. When I called and made the appointment, the receptionist said "Great, you'll be with Armani -- see you on Saturday."

"'Armani' as in the fashion house?"

"The very one."

For some reason, I'm expecting Armani to look EXACTLY like Luis, the funky Chilean stylist I went to years ago when I was still in Calgary. Armani does not look a thing like Luis, but he is quite hip and stylish. (Which, by the way, does give me confidence that he's not going to give me a Flowbee style 'do.) Bleach blond, peach fuzz-esque, bottlebrush hair, double layered polo shirts with collars jauntily turned up. We immediately hit it off and start chatting about life, New York, and life IN New York and soon I find out that he's only lived in the city for a couple of years himself. He tells me he's from a small town in Minnesota (for the first time I hear the accent on the "o" in Minnesota) and now I'm curious about the name Armani and how incongruous it seems that a white boy from small-town middle America would come to have the name of an Italian fashion maven.

He winks, says "honey, you can be anyone you want in this city", and slides a jar of pomade out of the way, revealing his cosmetology license.... "Name: Trevor Obermeyer". Trevor didn't even need the help of Second Life to create HIS alter ego. We're not in Minnesota anymore, Toto!