Take a boat along the intracoastal waterway near Fort Lauderdale and you'll see lot after lot of mega mansions lined up along the canal, all grand in scale, all perfectly landscaped, and all, despite minor architectural details, very much the same.

Except for one.

There's an old barber chair sitting atop a lawn in front of one of those houses. It's smack in the middle of the yard, like one of those faux-classical statues people put up to tell you they have faux-class. The chair is meant to be a focal point, eye-catching and incongruous. It is what you'd imagine, with that typical leather -- so distinctive I was once told the color is known as "barber-chair red" -- that, while faded, still seems to carry the pride of its hue, despite tears and bulges along its seams.

It makes no sense to be there, until you see the sign on the seat.

It reads: "My dad is a barber from Brooklyn."

Read more Elitism Has No Place in Entrepreneurship

Latest posts

Top Bottom