Ben Yang is a typical teenage boy. He’s 15 years old and a 10th grader at Appleby College in the Toronto suburb of Oakville. He’s 5 foot 9 but tells anyone who asks to round it up to 5 foot 10. He spends a lot of time playing hockey. He likes Fortnite and hip hop (especially Drake and Lil Uzi Vert, known for having a diamond implant in his forehead), and can usually be found glued to his phone.
And – like seemingly every other teenage boy in Toronto, possibly this country – he wears his hair in a shock, no, a bouffant, of spirally, squiggly curls.
Boys with perms. They’re everywhere you look. They’re huddled, wearing large backpacks and even larger sweatpants, outside of middle schools or in the energy drink section at Circle K. They’re boys of different races and ethnicities, of different cliques, cultures and subcultures – ranging from preadolescent to college age – all sporting the same curly mop.
The technical name for the look is “textured fringe with tapered sides.” But, on the Internet, you can find it referred to as everything from the “Zoomer perm” and “llama cut,” to “wet mop” or “alpaca head.” Most commonly, it’s known as “broccoli head.”
That’s news to this broccoli boy, however. Ben has been sporting florets since last year but has never before heard the nickname. He shrugs it off. “It’s just my perm,” he says.
It’s after school on a Thursday, and he’s just arrived for his appointment with Eric Vuong at the Barbers’ Mark in Oakville. He’s wearing Crocs and clutching a giant green Gatorade bottle. His last perm has long since grown out, and his bangs can only be described as somewhere between porcupine and sheepskin rug.
Ben carefully times these appointments. Hockey has him on the ice five days a week. After each perm, he can’t wash his hair – let alone wear a helmet – for 48 hours. And because just about every other player on Ben’s team also gets their hair permed by Mr. Vuong, appointments during these rare two-day gaps are hard to come by.
As with so many other trends, the origin of the broccoli cut is almost impossible to pin down. Many point to the worlds of sports and hip hop. They point to Kansas City quarterback Patrick Mahomes and other Black athletes and artists who have long worn their hair naturally wavy and curly – to yet another example of others borrowing from Black culture. Others highlight the influence of K-pop’s Kim Taehyung and Jungkook of BTS – and the broader effect the genre has had on gender stereotypes and norms.
But regardless of who originated the look, one thing is clear: Social media is where it spread. This is the hair that TikTok made.
At the peak of the pandemic in 2020, many teenaged boys were discovering TikTok. And as lockdowns extended for weeks, then months, their hair grew long and unruly.
That’s when Dillon Latham an American TikToker with more than 1.7 million followers, permed his hair for the first time. He did it as a joke, but the look took off. Other Gen Z influencers, including YouTuber Jacob Sartorius and Mason Disick (son of Kourtney Kardashian) also popped up with perms.
In the years since, stylists across Canada say they’ve been bombarded with broccoli requests. In Vancouver, Lance Blanchette, co-owner of Lounge Hair Studio, does about 10 perms a week. Prepandemic, he did maybe 10 in 10 years.
Mr. Vuong does up to five perms a day in Oakville. He’s 26 and dresses in the Gen Z uniform of baggy white T-shirts and leaf camouflage pants. His clientele is mostly Caucasian and East Asian; most don’t typically have naturally curly hair.
Barber-stylist Eric Vuong does up to five perms a day in Oakville.
Despite the style’s popularity, he says, most barber shops still don’t offer perms. “I think most barbers consider it tedious.”
“This,” he says, wrapping small sections of Ben’s hair around tangerine-coloured rollers, “requires a lot of dexterity. And it takes a long time.”
There’s also the smell. “It kind of stinks,” he says of the funky, sulphuric odor of perm solution.
Many of his clients, Mr. Vuong says, are drawn to the look because it’s no fuss. Yes, it requires two-hour-long appointments. But from there, styling the look is as easy as letting it air dry. “It’s low maintenance, but high impact.”
Throughout history, every generation has had its own looks. Millennials frosted their tips. Older Gen Zs had the Bieber swoosh, then the “combover.” But within those generations were subcultures, each with their own exclusive style.
The broccoli top, says Diego Lauro, a 21-year-old hair stylist in Toronto, is unique for its ubiquity. Whether they’re athletes, preppies or even hip-hop heads, adolescent boys are all getting the same style.
Mr. Lauro blames this, in part, on the amount of time that teenagers spend on social media. “They’re a lot more influenced.”
Social media, he says, has created new expectations for young boys around their appearance. In even the short time since Mr. Lauro graduated from high school, he’s seen a big increase in the amount of time and money they’re willing to spend on their looks. His clients regularly come in wearing designer cologne and $200 sweatshirts from OVO and Fear of God Essentials.
Which brings us back to the broccoli cut.
A perm can cost upward of $150. At Mr. Blanchette’s studio – where, he says, parents are usually the ones footing the cost – a perm costs $250.
For today’s appointment at Mr. Vuong’s in Oakville, Ben is splitting the cost with his mom. His half of the $150 will come from his savings – cash he’s collected in red envelopes over the years.
After about an hour, the rollers are out. Mr. Vuong runs his hands through Ben’s strands. Each lock is a tightly coiled fiddlehead.
When he turns Ben around in the chair for a final assessment, the 15-year-old takes in his reflection.
“Do you like it?” Mr. Vuong asks.
Ben sticks his fingers into the bangs and gives the curls a scrunch. He says, simply, “yep.”
“Do you feel more confident?”
Again, he’s monosyllabic. “Yep.” But his expression says much more. His face, already boyish, has spread into a wide, impish grin.
