We Went to Garut, the Birthplace of Indonesia's Hair Styling Industry

In Indonesia, it’s pretty common for a region to get stereotyped as the source of one kind of industry. Martabak vendors come from Tegal. Metal traders from Madura. And barbers? They come from Garut, a sprawling district south of Bandung in West Java.

But why? What is it about Garut that makes the district home to the nation’s scissors and shape up crews? I decided to head south and figure it out.

I arrived in Garut and immediately spotted six barbers working the hallway of an elementary school, clippers in one hand, a crowd of eager kids at their backs.

The barbers were working the clippers and had amassed a crowd, most of them looking for a cut called “Tintin hair” that looked… well like Tintin’s hair.

As the schoolchildren fought over a hairbrush, Alif Lukman Nurhakim, an instructor at Abah Atrox Barber School, told me that this was the perfect environment to check a novice barber’s skills.

“We hold these haircut events at schools every day, to train them mentally,” Alif told me. “You can always tell if they can handle pressure or not when they’re cutting a bunch of kids’ hair.”

Abah Atrox Barber School is a place for purists. The school’s name, Abah Atrox, comes from a phrase in the local Sundanese dialect that means to “move around.” It harkens back to the old days when cutting hair was a travelers’ job, one that required little more than a few tools—scissors, a razor, and maybe a mirror—and a taste for life on the road.

Today, the barber’s life still involves plenty of travel—thats why, even now, you can find barbers from Garut in the farthest corners of the country, from Sabang to Merakue. But while the culture has stayed alive, societal views of the barber have changed in recent years.

“Earlier, in the ‘90s going into the 2000s, there was a lack of confidence in admitting you were a barber,” said Rizal Fadhillah. “No one really liked to admit that they were one because it wasn’t a very respected job.”

If there’s a godfather of the Garut barber industry who is still alive, then Rizal is probably it. He goes by the nickname Abah Atrox himself and it’s his name on the school I visited.

Rizal believes that barbers aren’t just men with scissors—they’re skilled artists who just happen to work in the medium of hair.

“I always tell the public that we’re not hair cutters, we’re hairdressing artists,” he told me. “Because in the end it’s a matter of feeling. We used to be called hair cutters, as if we were so below everyone else, that’s why we never moved forward.”

Rizal realized two important things about life in Banyuresmi, a subdistrict of Garut made famous as the hometown of countless skilled barbers: 1) the local barbers were all gone, having already moved to big cities like Jakarta and Surabaya to ply their trade and 2) the Banyuresmi name was so strong that maybe, just maybe, people would actually move to the subdistrict to learn the trade.

Rizal was right and today his school, which teaches students how to cut hair for an affordable Rp 2.5 million ($ 178 USD), including room and board, is a major draw.

But when he first told his neighbors of his plan to open a school, they thought he was crazy. The same skills that make Garut barbers so famous are taught at an early age by a kid’s parents. Why build a school to teach something every one already knows how to do?

The locals weren’t thinking of men like Achmad Rofingi, who moved to Garut from Magelang to attend Rizal’s school. When we met Achmad was still learning, spending his days cutting hair and his nights sleeping above the school.

But it was Dian Firmansyah, a relative newcomer to the school, who was selected to show off his skills with my own head of hair. Rizal admitted that none of his students had actually cut a woman’s hair before, and I could see that Dian was understandably nervous.

But all I wanted was a short trim. I had just cut and dyed my hair and I didn’t need him do anything drastic. A simple run of the clippers would be enough.

Alif, from the school, was there to supervise as well. He eventually stepped in a styled my hair once his junior was finished.

“You’re going to look cool with this hard part haircut, he said. “But it must be razored first.”

Alif spent the entire haircut telling me how much his hometown had changed—all thanks to barbers. Alif himself was able to earn a degree, even getting a job in a bank, before he quit to return to his true passion—cutting hair.

“The people here were only high school graduates back then, but now people can go to college," he said. “It changes their mindset. In Banyuresmi, it doesn’t matter if the officials are corrupt. We can create our own job opportunities. Barbers enjoy freedom. No one can suppress us.”

When he finished I looked, honestly, pretty damn good. But I also felt good. Banyuresmi is an inspiring place full of amazing people.

Rizal eyed my haircut and told me that he was happy, because I was happy. And, at the time, that felt like more than enough.

“Barbers work to satisfy their customers, he said. “They must do it passionately and with love, or else they won’t do it right. It makes us proud to see our customers satisfied.”