I’ve been following Phát around for the last three years as he’s gone from barbershop to barbershop. First at a spot in Đa Kao, briefly at another place also in Đa Kao, then for a few months in Tân Định with two friends to open their own location in true entrepreneurial fashion. As is often the case when venturing on a path of your own creation, the road is riddled with bumps and holes that make reaching the end unscathed an all-too-fantastical hope. Though that first venture failed, losing something often means gaining something in return, and now Phát’s running Đôi Bàn Tay with his girlfriend, Triển. I’ve written about Phát once already, but in this profile I want to go back even further. The truth is, through my time in Saigon Phát’s become more than just someone who cuts my hair. He’s become a friend, and he deserves to have his story told.
Phát was born in Saigon and has lived here his whole life. He told me about his childhood while cutting my hair. Strands fell into my notebook which I had to periodically swipe away. In the background, bossa nova played. The music was complimented by the pleasant snip of scissors he’d once told me he bought from Japan. Those scissors were like another instrument, and I listened to their soothing snip as Phát reminisced of his childhood with a glimmer in his eye. He used to play trốn tìm and năm mười’ (variations of hide and seek) on the streets with the other neighbourhood kids, simply hanging out without any need for phones or social media. He said that type of childhood was relatively common for a local Vietnamese kid from his generation—he was born in 2000—but admits it’s a dying way for kids to grow up nowadays. Still, it’s nice enough for him to look back on, because when you’re young the world feels so open and full of possibility. It’s only once you get older you realise life isn’t all about playing on the streets with buddies from your neighbourhood.
High school was when things started taking a turn for the worse. Phát hadn’t been the most studious student up until then which meant that he’d failed a few too many tests on the way. This led to enrollment in what he describes as a ‘not-normal’ school. Essentially, it was something of a two-in-one organization: one portion functioning as a regular high school while the other was a trade school where students could gain experience in a variety of fields. While this might sound familiar to some, the abnormal part was that classes had students of varying ages so you weren’t necessarily in a classroom filled with peers. When Phát told me this, he did so with zero embarrassment or hesitation. On one end this took me off guard seeing as I’d always had an impression of Phát as a serious, hard-working individual but after thinking about it, I figured his nonchalance could've been due to the fact that he’d made peace with that past. Sure, we all make mistakes and at the time those mistakes can feel heavier than the weight of the world but after weeks, months, and years pass you tend to look back and wonder, why did I make such a big deal in the first place? So it goes.
Phát studied marketing in the trade school as his mother and grandmother wanted but he didn’t have much interest in the subject. While he could've gone to university to pursue work in that field or another, he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to do. As a result, off he went to mandatory military service. It was in the service he discovered his love of cutting people’s hair. It started off out of necessity. During the two years of military service, you’re only allowed to leave during Tet time, as well as for a week before you actually leave for good. This meant that naturally, some people learnt how to cut hair. Phát was among those who did and he was hooked from the get go, seeing haircutting as a form of art with the power to change not only how someone looked, but how they felt. He cut the hair of older and younger soldiers, and as he chopped my curly brown locks with the precision of a seasoned barber, he recalled with a laugh about the many mistakes he’d made at the start, like when a buzzcut he did for a friend ended up looking more triangular than round. No matter what, he learned what he could, and upon graduating used the money he’d saved up in the military to go straight to barber school. Three months of that and he landed his first job.
Phát’s first gig as a barber was in District 10. He looks back on that place fondly, given that it gave him the opportunity to learn in a real barbershop, as well as to start making a living cutting hair. From there, he moved to another place in District 3, and finally, Old Fashioned, the barbershop in Đa Kao where I met him. By then, Old Fashioned had been running for a decade and was well known in Saigon’s community of ‘old school’ barbershops. He spent two years there until 2024, during which time he honed his skills not only for cutting hair, but also for English speaking—He cites boy bands like Westlife and the Backstreet Boys as well as cartoons like Phineas and Ferb for providing him with the foundation for English speaking. Working at barbershops took it to the next level. It was at Old Fashioned he also met the barber he considers his mentor and another barber with whom he teamed up with to start their own shop in Tân Định called Cow. As stated, the path you pave on your own is often riddled with bumps and holes, especially if you’re setting out on it for the first time. There were a number of reasons why Cow didn’t work out. For one, rent was expensive. For another, they didn’t have enough clients. Lastly, Phát recognizes the fact that the three of them, as much coworkers as friends, simply didn’t know how to work together. He recalls the period as bittersweet. So it goes.
Đôi Bàn Tay’s been open for six months as of our conversation in early June. Starting off as a passion project between him and Triển, Phát fills the role of barber while Triển takes care of any managerial duties, sitting at the register with a cute, shy smile that softens any edges that might remain in the room. Given that the place is hidden in an alleyway, what you get is a tranquil space that lets you forget all the honking and hankering madness of Saigon out the door. Since opening, Phát’s learned a few things. For one, he’s realised how much of a special relationship he has with his clients, as many—myself included—have followed him after Cow shut. Besides that, he also has a better understanding of how to balance his mentality. By this he means to never take the good days for granted, and to not beat himself up when things are slow or don’t go according to plan. Given that I’ve never seen him be anything but his usual calm, at-times-serious-but-always-pleasant self, I’m sure he practices what he preaches.
As he styled and blow-dried my hair, Phát told me his goal of opening a barbershop with four chairs rather than the two he has now, as well as a desire to add more plants in the place. Apart from that, nothing will change and for that, I’m glad. Wiping the last strands of hair from out my notebook, I closed it. A pile was on the floor which I knew he’d promptly sweep away—I’d seen him do so many times before. Lastly, he held up a mirror and in the reflection of the mirror in front of me, showed me the back of my head to make sure I was satisfied with the cut. I said I was but truthfully, I’d stopped looking a long time ago. He knew what he was doing.
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