BARBER SHOP CULTURE? What’s Happened to

By Guest Editor Jimmy Rod

When I first stepped into a barber shop at sixteen, it felt like stepping into another world loud, sharp, quick-witted, and unforgiving. It was 1998, a twelve-chair shop in a busy shopping centre in Mount Ommaney and my apprenticeship meant I did what I was told, no questions asked. If you were asked to sweep the floor, you swept the floor. If you were told to clean, you cleaned. You did it. There were no “mental health days”, no one asked if you were okay, you either kept up or you didn’t. And guess what? I loved it.

It toughened me up and gave me a trade I’m still proud of 26 years later. Back then, the banter was half the education. Sure, you’d cop a bit of stick, but you learned how to give it back too without crossing the line. You learned respect for the craft, your boss, your chair, and most importantly, your client. The customer always came first. If you didn’t know that you didn’t last long.

Somewhere along the line, that got lost. These days, you can walk into some shops and feel invisible. You’re lucky to get a nod from behind the counter. You sit there waiting while barbers stand around scrolling on their phones or cutting hair with AirPods in their ears listening to music or podcasts instead of the person in the chair. Who are they really cutting? Who are they really listening to? Because it’s not the paying customer.

Barbering is, and always has been, about people first and hair second. You could be the sharpest clipper in the world, but if you can’t greet someone with a proper handshake, remember their name, ask about the family, or make them laugh you’re only half a barber. This is a people business. The client isn’t just buying a haircut; they’re buying the experience. That starts with how they’re welcomed the moment they step through the door.

We forget that barbering isn’t new. It’s ancient over 6,000 years old. Archaeologists have found razors made of flint and bronze in Egyptian tombs dating back to 3500 BCE. Back then, barbers held high social status because grooming and cleanliness were tied to religious rituals. Being a barber meant something. And for a long time, it still did.

In Australia, that status took a dive in the 1960s and ‘70s. Fashion changed long hair came in, barbers didn’t keep up, and the trade dried up. Big shops with busy floors shrank into lonely one-chair operations. Apprenticeships disappeared. By the time the ‘90s rolled around, short hair came back and with it, a new breed of young barbers opened fresh shops and put apprentices back on the floor. Competitions came back. We had an association QMHA Queensland mater hairdresser association not for hairdressers but for barbers. Queensland led the revival. It felt like the craft had its pride back.

I did my time in that wave, and for decades I watched shops grow, compete, close, and come back again. But now? We’re in a strange spot. There’s no shortage of barber shops in fact, there’s too many. Shopping centres with six or more shops fighting over the same handful of walk- ins. Side streets with barber shops popping up next door to each other like fast-food chains. The result? A race to the bottom. One in three new barber shops close in their first year. Some owners are reporting takings down 40% from the year before. Why? Costs keep rising, demand isn’t endless, and too many shops can’t find enough good staff to handle the demand they do have.

Everyone’s chasing quick fixes. Drop your prices. Steal staff from the shop down the road. Promise the world to a new hire. But that isn’t culture that’s cannibalism. The truth is simple: if you’re not putting on apprentices, you’re not building the future of this trade. If you don’t teach the next generation, who’s going to be left to pick up the clippers when you’re gone?

Here’s a good one my manager did an interview last month with a barber from New Zealand. He lined up three shops in one day. We were the second stop. He did cut two, clean work. Then he asked my manager, “Are all your barbers apprentices here?” She laughed “No mate, they’re all qualified.” Turns out another shop told him everyone at Jimmy Rods was an apprentice. Gossip and cheap shots instead of focusing on your own floor that’s where the culture goes wrong.

Poaching is the industry’s other disease. I lost a good barber just last week. Nothing I could do but wish him luck. The grass usually isn’t greener, but sometimes people must see for themselves. If they come back, you welcome them back. If they don’t, you keep going. That’s barbering.

To the next generation: keep your head down. Ask questions, they’re free. Put your phone away. Take your AirPods out. Greet your clients. Thank them when they leave. Don’t bounce from shop to shop chasing a dollar more an hour. Find a good boss, stick with them, learn everything you can. Last year, only 200 new barbering apprenticeships were taken up in Queensland. That number should be a thousand. That’s how we close the skills gap and bring back respect.

Owners take the risk; they deserve the reward. But we all have a responsibility to each other, to the trade, and to the client in the chair. Barbering has survived 6,000 years for a reason. Let’s not let bad service and a pair of air pods kill it now.

Live sharp, Look sharp

@jimmyrods