How a Yoyo-Spinning Barber Got My Attention
Alex Hillman
This past Sunday night I was cozy on the couch, about to watch another episode of The Copenhagen Test (shout out to Cam for the recommendation).
My phone lit up as I got a DM from a local creator named Paul.
Paul Brown runs a barbershop in Germantown, among many other things as I’ve come to learn, and had recently shown up in my TikTok feed.
He opens many of his videos spinning a yoyo or showing off some art in his shop, and repeating the line: “I do not live in America, I live in Philadelphia, and it’s always personal in Philadelphia” before sharing a book recommendation or a personal anecdote.
Some of his videos mentioned events he’d hosted at his shop. One called “barbershop civics” and another simply focused on listening.
Eventually, I left a comment or two. He clearly noticed and commented on a video I’d posted about loneliness being like hunger. From a full year ago.
I thanked him for the comment, and said that that I’d love to join for one of his events someday.
I didn’t realize in that moment the next one was two hours away.
But Paul did. He slid into my DMs: “There’s still time!”
Choosing Serendipity
In spite of my cozy couch situation, I decided to embrace this bit of internet serendipity and followed it into the real world.
Less than 2 hours later, I walked up a big flight of wooden stairs into Paul’s shop to find myself the first to arrive.
Paul greeted me with a big hug.
Within fifteen minutes more people had arrived and Paul kicked off the activity for the night: a group listening to an episode of Paul’s podcast where he talked openly with a mental health professional about challenges and struggles that he was going through.
Paul and the doctor shared reframes and observations, intercut with clips and quotes from other sources.
We listened ten minutes at a time, then broke for discussion.
The whole thing was a beautiful and vulnerable way for everyone in the room to reflect on their own challenges and struggles in life, and how we work through them.
No unsolicited advice. Just genuine sharing and caring.
By the end of the event, I felt a strong kinship with the group and connection that was both familiar, and different.
“Calling in” the elephant in the room
Near the end, Paul drew attention to the proverbial elephant in the room.
Me. I was the one white dude in a Black-owned barbershop.
He asked me, point blank and in the presence of the group I’d just met, how I felt about the night.
Not in a way that felt like a call-out, but a call-in. An invitation to be honest.
The first word that came to mind was grateful.
Grateful for the experience, but most of all for the invitation he’d extended in the first place.
Paul saw my video, and went out of his way to invite me into his barbershop and his community. Both spaces that he and others had described as “intentional and safe.”
I told him and the group that I knew enough about barbershop culture to know this, and recognized that I was being invited into that space within the Black community. I took this as its own kind of “being seen.”
I told them how glad I was that I had embraced the serendipity, and for how they had welcomed me into this space, never making me feel an outsider but also not holding back from sharing their experiences and perspectives on my account.
I told them how much I appreciated the opportunity to listen and learn, and offer me a chance to do the same in return.
Finally, I also told the group that it bothered me that this experience seemed exceptional, simply because of how much easier it would have been to choose the comfort of the couch instead of embracing the serendipity.
A deeper reflection
Over the years I’ve had many conversations with friends about the many forms of allyship. About how trust is earned and exchanged, not declared.
Paul extended that trust to me on Sunday night. A relative stranger from the internet. And the people in that room met me with the same openness.
The fact that this all happened during Black History Month makes it extra special. Because I know it won’t be the last time.
Choose Serendipity
The last thing I told Paul when I left his shop on Sunday was how much the thing he had built in his barbershop felt familiar to me because of Indy Hall.
My version of an intentional space where people feel safe enough to be real with each other.
Not because of rules or policies, but because someone cared enough to set the tone, and everyone who showed up chose to meet it.
That’s how I think of our community, our spaces, and our events as well.
Every single one of them is someone saying “there’s still time.” An open door. An invitation to show up and see what happens.
So the next time serendipity taps you on the shoulder, a DM, an event listing, a friend saying “come with me,” maybe you can choose serendipity.
The couch will still be there when you get home.
Happy Black History Month. 🖤
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