The Mountain look

‘We like it long‘ they say. ‘You look more distinguished‘. I am not so sure. Having lived a lifetime with short hair, it is a new experience for me to have to cope with long flowing locks. Previously, over many years, my instructions to the barber were concise: ‘Number 4 all over, thanks‘ And I would sit back and let him/her mow the grass, knowing the result would be short and sweet. Easy to keep clean, and ‘professional’, or so I thought.

My hair style coincided with my previous choice of ties. When employed in veterinary practice in the UK, and especially agricultural practice, it was considered essential to wear a tie – probably to show farmers one was a ‘professional’. Another aspect of the class structure I presume. Anyhow, sporting a long dangling tie, while working at the rear ends of cows, risked having it regularly anointed with nasty stuff, so I graduated to bow ties. None of those poncy clip-on excrescences, but genuine ones which I tied myself. My collection of bow ties was something to be proud of and, I thought, added a certain flair to my professional presentation. Needless to say, short hair also contributed to my clean and lean appearance. And even after moving to New Zealand, where the standard uniform of farm vets is shorts, an open neck shirt and gumboots, and then in Australia, I kept my hair short.

But along came the corona virus epidemic and it all changed! First the hairdressers stayed closed, and even later when they were allowed to reopen I was risk averse and continued to pass their doors without stopping, even though I could see my hirsute visage reflected in their windows. I have not had a haircut since February and am now blessed with a long mane that reaches to the base of my neck. I flaunt my locks at the other balding oldies and pretend that it takes youthful vigour to grow such luxurious hair. Call it the Trump approach, while knowing his is a wig.

But now what? Before, I was in control and my coiffure was simple; now I have a small jungle to control and there are questions for which I have no answers: Do I get it cut at some time? And when? And how? And in the meantime would it look better in a ponytail? And then I have to cope with the positive comments of my female ‘admirers’. Decisions, decisions. Perhaps I should just give in, accept my ‘mountain look’ and become an artist or poet. I might even get a couple of tats.