I saw a cat that was blacker than that!
Can't top the Mopol encounter, but as to haircuts ....
The Airport Hotel in Lagos had a tiny barbershop around the back, one that sported a fancy diploma from some London School of Barbing. Since my previous coiffeuse had upped sticks for Ghana I would frequent this fine "barbing saloon" when necessary since the barber seemed to know what he was doing.
One Saturday I showed up to find the barber out, with his stand-in a young lady who must have been his country cousin, just arrived from someplace way out in the bush.
The first part, sitting down in the chair and having a tatty sheet draped around me, went okay, but then she sort of gazed at my bonce, all hot, sweaty and disordered, as if I were the first white man she had ever come across as a customer.
Instead of either giving me a shampoo or at least combing everything flat to being with, she started right in by snipping off random tufts of hair that were sticking out, finally achieving a smooth look, which I paid for. Then I left.
Back at the flat I went for a shower, but when I toweled off and looked at myself in the mirror afterwards, my head looked like a golf ball! This really was the worst haircut ever, even worse than those numbers they did in Vietnam where they would adjust the dimensions of the hairline with a cut-throat razor, dry.
I guess the pax all thought I had the mange until it grew out enough to go back to that guy who had supposedly been trained in London.