My mother was a hairdresser. She managed a small-town beauty shop, the kind patronized mostly by matronly women who had standing appointments. The name of the shop was “Beauty Unlimited.” Despite the best efforts of my mother and her colleagues, the name was grossly misleading. And it wasn’t very clever. I was reminded of this while trying to come up with a title for this post. As I rolled the word “hair” around in my brain, I thought about the salons of today. The name for so many of them is some usually tortured play on the words “hair” or “cut” or “trim.” For example, I sometimes get my hair cut at, yes, a beauty shop called “A Cut Above.” It sits on a rise, above the street. Get it? The patrons and the operators of such places seem younger today, too. Of course, my mother’s customers might not have been as matronly or as old as they seemed to me as a small boy. In fact, they might look downright fetching if I could look back on them today.