red and white stripes

I've been going to the same barber for years.  He seemed to be an assistant manager at the beginning, but he opened up an outpost shop under the same ownership nearer my work, and since then I've been going there.  I have the sense that he bought in - at any rate he's the boss at the new location.  Everyone is Armenian.

At first, it was all professional wrestling on the televisions, and framed pictures of my barber mugging, thumbs up, next to some professional wrestling figure.  A wall of fan photos, in which you could watch him age - see the youth in his face melt away.  And the capes were printed with scantily clad bimbos.  Every morning I pass and he waves, or if he's standing in the doorway, he says hello.

I suppose he's matured.  Lately the television is soccer or, occasionally, market news.  The capes are plain, good cloth now, embroidered with "Premium Barber Shop" - the name of the place.  He's gained a little paunch.  And this morning, the sweatshirt was gone.  He was wearing a red-and-white striped dress shirt, with contrasting all-white cuffs and collar.  He said not "hello" but "good morning" and nodded a bit as he did.  He has become The Barber.