AsiaLIFE

Forget all those CNN pundits, your local barber is the best indicator of what is really happening during a recession.

Despite all the complicated models, legions of economists and limitless supply of bloggers, your local barber is still a pretty good economic indicator. He provides a service that is inherently local, one that can't be outsourced or exported (at least until the tele-operated razor is perfected) and the demand for haircuts is elastic, certainly among the unemployed who don't mind looking like shaggy bums. Those with jobs can put off a haircut for a few weeks or turn to a skilled friend if they're interested in reducing their spending.

Of course, what's good for the suddenly thrifty but long-haired consumer is not good for the barber who can't get anyone in his chair, whether it's in an upscale shopping mall or on the side of the road in Ta Khmao – sorry, Duk Khmao. Such is the economic circle of life. One of the biggest adjustments after moving to a new town or a new nation-state is finding a reliable barber. When I was fresh to Cambodia, I picked a barber’s shop on a dusty side street off Phsar Moun Ang, the grilled chicken market. Its advantages included an electric fan and a sign with haircuts written in English and prices written in Arabic numerals, which was important because my Khmer consisted of “susaday” and “baht.” I also thought it would be more private than a barber on the sidewalk, but I was wrong.

So I walked in, exchanged a few rounds of polite bows and “susadays,” pointed at the basic 3,000 riel haircut, and was invited via gestures to sit down in a specific chair. A small crowd soon gathered to watch me get a haircut, because apparently seeing a supersized American get a trim was entertainment. Getting a haircut in an actual shop only avoided the street theatre aspect because I was inside. It had become actual theatre, complete with spectators heckling the barber.

Finally it was done. I handed the barber a 10,000 riel note, the smallest bill I had, and waited for change. He smiled and nodded. I pointed at the sign, which clearly said 3,000 riel. He smiled and nodded. I explained to the crowd in English that I wanted change, hoping an aspiring translator would help me. Every spectator smiled and nodded. After a certain amount of wild gesticulating on my part, the barber smiled, nodded and told me to get out.

Being a lowly volunteer, paying three times what I had intended for a haircut was kind of painful. I wasn't poor, at least not in Cambodia, where poverty is defined by phrases like “bamboo hut with a dirt floor” and “children are worth more tending animals or sold to baby brokers than sitting in a school.” But I didn't have a lot of money to waste on overpaying mediocre barbers. The next time I needed a haircut, I sought out a barber that knew enough English to understand what his sign said. And I carried a wad of small bills.

My barber in the U.S. has two great advantages. He charges US$12 a haircut, 16 times what it was supposed to cost that first time in Cambodia – but a bargain in the United States. Also he looks exactly like Ronald Reagan, the charismatic and beloved fortieth president of the United States. Having someone who looks like an icon of the conservative movement – if only because Republican presidents in the interim have failed to shine – is a definite plus in a barber. He also provides change.

Will Koenig is a journalist based in Oregon, where he lives with his wife and son. Email: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

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