By Massimiliano Sfregola
In Nicosia’s Old Town, a quiet battle is playing out—one haircut at a time. On one side are the last five Cypriot barbers still operating in the walled city, clinging to tradition and fearing extinction. On the other, 25 barber shops, mostly owned by foreigners from the Middle East and Southeast Asia, have taken their place.
The locals claim that these newcomers stay open late, work weekends, and disregard the traditional Thursday closing day. And we’re losing customers, they complain. “We are a family-run business, owning this shop since 1977,” says Christakis who, along with Nikos, runs “Figaro,” a barbershop on Old Town’s Regina Street. It’s one of the five Cypriot-owned barber shops in the city center and the one that has taken the issue to the authorities.
“The regulations for running a barber business in Cyprus are strict, and we follow them. Others—mostly foreigners—don’t. We have rigid closing times and must comply with industry standards. What about them? We know many don’t, and that’s why I decided to petition the mayor and ask Parliament to intervene,” Christakis says. While he admits that Cypriot-run barbershops in the old town have always been few, he argues that the influx of foreign competitors has become overwhelming.
Yet, he insists racism isn’t a factor: “In the past, we trained young Syrians who now have their own shops, and we have foreign customers. This is about fair competition.” The issue is gaining momentum. Christakis is waiting for an audience with the mayor, who has promised a meeting soon. Meanwhile, Stavros Papadouris, MP for the Green Party, has brought the matter before the parliamentary committee on trade.
However, Papadouris makes it clear that the discussion in Parliament will strictly concern regulations. "I want to ensure that the rules governing this sector are up-to-date and reflective of modern business realities,” he explains. “I don’t know why it hasn’t been done before, but we need to verify that all barbershop owners meet legal requirements. This cannot be left to the industry itself.”
What about the Cypriot barbers’ complaints against foreign competitors? Papadouris dismisses the idea of a targeted campaign. “This issue should not become a weapon between competitors,” he warns. “There is certainly a broader political question about the sheer number of barber shops—whether there are too many and if competition could be better regulated. But that’s not the focus of this discussion.”
On Trikoupi, a street in Nicosia’s Old Town lined with foreign-owned barber shops, few are willing to speak. The Asian owner of multiple businesses in the area acknowledges the controversy but fears municipal retaliation if he speaks publicly. The same goes for a young Middle Eastern barber near the Oxi roundabout, who declines an interview but disputes the “wild west” image painted by Cypriot barbers. In his view, the reality is quite the opposite: constant police scrutiny and frequent inspections make their lives difficult.
Abo Nabeel, a Syrian barber who has been in Cyprus for 12 years, has no such reservations. “Cypriot barbers haven’t disappeared; they’ve just moved out of the city center, where rents are more affordable,” he explains.
Why, then, are there so many foreign barbers in the Old Town? The answer is straightforward: many migrants live there, and despite the high rents, barbers prefer to stay close to their clientele.
As for unfair competition, Nabeel believes it’s not just Cypriots who suffer: “Those who ignore closing days and stay open late don’t just harm Cypriot barbers; they hurt me and other foreign barbers who follow the rules.” His hands remain steady as he trims a young customer’s hair. “This isn’t about nationality—it’s about a shrinking market,” he argues. “When I opened in 2014, there were only three barbershops on this street. Now there are at least ten.” He gestures with his scissors to emphasize the point.
The pandemic and rising living costs have already slashed profit margins. Now, the overwhelming competition makes survival difficult—not just for Cypriot-owned businesses but for everyone.
Trikoupi is more than a commercial street; it’s a community. The barbershops here offer more than haircuts and beard trims. A plasma screen on the wall plays a Syrian satellite channel broadcasting a post-Assad talk show. Some customers don’t even come for a trim—they stop by for conversation, while the mini-market owner’s little son drifts in and out as if the shop were an extension of home.
A young Syrian customer, waiting his turn, listens to the mix of Arabic and English conversation about barbers policies and wants to have a say about it: “For me, this place is more than just about appearance,” he says. “I don’t speak Greek or English, so if I need help with my documents, I don’t go to an office where no one understands me—I come here.”
He arrived in Cyprus recently and found in the barber community a crucial source of advice on housing, jobs, and paperwork. It’s common for Arabic speakers to stop by Abo Nabeel’s shop for guidance. Many come not just because they don’t speak Greek but because they have no connections at all. Nabeel understands their struggles firsthand, and beyond his barbering skills, he does what he can to help.
“If someone comes here asking for support, I help them if I can,” he says. The scent of spiced Syrian coffee, the hum of clippers, and the mix of Arabic accents filling the shop are reminders of the difficult road many have traveled—fleeing war and dictatorship, arriving in Cyprus without family or financial security.
Yet, as welcoming as these barbershops may be, they remain at the center of a heated debate. For the Cypriot barbers, the issue isn’t just competition—it’s the fear of becoming obsolete in their own city. For the foreign barbers, it’s about settling in a new homeland.
