A park encounter:woman with dog. Observing park etiquette,I said"Hi"to the dog first. I admired how sleek it looked. Recently trimmed."Yes,''she replied from behind her mask,''just been groomed.''Then her eyes flicked north. To my head. And I knew what she was thinking:I could use some grooming too. But this had been impossible.
Alan Attwood.Eddie Jim
Toilet paper was an early symbol of the lockdown;C another. I have found myself shouting questions at people on TV (never a good sign). Newsreaders;athletes;leaders ... Hey,where didyou get a haircut? Not what I usually do. But for the first time in many years,I’ve actually been thinking about hair.
It mattered in the 1970s:a decade of big hair. I let the locks go. My"styling"technique was to dry wet hair by bending over a bar heater and shaking vigorously,like a dog just out of the sea. The result resembled the electrocution I might have suffered. I was happy with this look;my headmaster of the time,less so. He bailed me up to describe it as “interesting”. My reply:“Thank you,sir”,wasn’t what he wanted to hear. In retrospect,his psychology was all wrong. Had he admired my mane,I would have cut it. Which is what I did after leaving school and its silly hair rules.
My kids have stumbled on photos of me from that era. Their response:“You were kidding,right.” I wasn’t. I was emulating Robert Plant and Justin Hayward (eclectic tastes,even then). Gradually,though,pragmatism kicked in. Keeping it short meant not thinking much about hair. It meant removing a hat or a helmet and not worrying about looking like a toilet-brush or Bert and Ernie fromThe Muppets,which is what has been happening lately.
I’ve gone undercover. Hiding hair under a beanie or cap. Slightly alarmed by what’s been happening,especially the colour,but also increasingly intrigued ..."Hmmm,what if I just let things go?''Could I find an independent witness to confirm or deny my belief that the man in the mirror the other morning (after a swim) was actually Robert Smith of The Cure? How cool would that be?
Having dreamed recently about pushing dogs aside on their way to the groomers,my ambivalence has grown along with a fringe. Last weekend’s announcement about hairdressers reopening caused neither my heart to leap nor my feet to race down the street to take my place in a long queue. I’ve become oddly attached to what’s been happening up top. Is it too soon,too simplistic,to return to pragmatism;the way things were? I’ll give it time. Think a bit. No short cuts. Yet.