There was once a time when hair, was just hair. And then, there was a day when hair was worshiped. That time was defined by Connor. When he walks into the room, every hair on every head bows down and worships. The follicles bending to their corresponding scalps. Begging to be cut by the glory that is Connor's scissors. Every hair that falls to the ground disappears into the godly dimension of glorious hair, and the hairs that stay behind await the moment that they grow longer, so that they themselves can "get a taste of the glory. See what it tastes like" (Nacho Libre).
Connor, the hair god. Will the world ever be the same? No my friend, the answer is no, it will not. Every hair will bow, every scalp shall sing, and every pair of scissors turn to gold, so long as he live, until that fateful day that he joins those hairs that moved to that glorious dimension, to live on in a glorious, hairy eternal life. May he live on.