Your Story: KJ Haircut

Every week,’s Ben York shares a unique Suns fan story. Do you have one of your own? Send Ben York an email at for a chance to be featured on the site.

Life is filled with moments of regret.

For me, personally, the vast majority of those moments occurred in the early ‘90s. Whether it was my exclusively Zubaz-themed wardrobe or my love of Under the Umbrella Tree (a hilariously creepy puppet show on The Disney channel), the ‘90s were a time when I got a lot of things wrong.

Some things, however, I got right. I was far and away considered to be a Suns nerd.

And by “was” I mean I still am.

In my mind, being a Suns nerd is a badge of honor. After all, nearly 50 years of Suns basketball has been fraught with amazing memories that I’ll forever cherish.

But this story is, admittedly, more embarrassing than awesome.

I don’t remember the exact day, but I know it was during a hot July summer in 1993. Weeks prior, the Suns had lost to the Chicago Bulls in the NBA Finals. After a few weeks of uncontrollable crying, I was finally ready to move on.

One day while listening to Ace of Base’s “I Saw the Sign” in a boombox the size of a small filing cabinet (which is another humiliating story in and of itself), I had what I thought at the time was a brilliant epiphany.

I should get a Phoenix Suns player’s name shaved into my head. That would make me so cool and all the girls will love me.

A couple things are inherently wrong with that line of thinking:

1. The idea that getting anything shaved into one’s head would be considered “cool.”

2. That, in my mind, this was a rational thought devoid of negative implications.

3. That girls the age of 10 (or any age, for that matter) would love it.

As fate would have it, I had an appointment to get a haircut the following day. For over 24 hours, I labored over what (or whom) I should get shaved into my blonde flat-top (easily one of the greatest sentences I’ve ever written).

I waffled between THUNDER DAN, SIR CHARLES and even DUMAS 21 before, ultimately, going with my favorite Suns player of all-time: KJ KEVIN JOHNSON #7.

The reaction by the woman cutting my hair was priceless and, if I’m honest, well-deserved.

“You want KJ KEVIN JOHNSON #7 shaved into your head?” she said in an attempt to understand my thought process. “Well, at least your head is big enough to fit all the letters.”

I ignored the obvious insult; I was too excited to be cool.

And for about five minutes after she was done, I thought I was.

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