1) Such a reaction after posting this photo yesterday on ye Fycebykke! The last time I had my hair cut was sometime in mid- to late February. It is now the third week of May. I know a lot of people, men especially, have been frantic to get back to the barber shop or hair salon to resume traditional good grooming, but not me. I’m gonna keep going with this for awhile. I love it.
2) The last time my hair was longer than this was the winter of 1980-1981. I had gone through my first semester at IAA without ever figuring out how to find a barber, and then before Christmas break was cast in The Tempest. The director told all the men not to get their hair cut, so with a mane of three months already on me, I pressed on through the winter. (Mother was not happy.) A week before the opening, the director said to me, “And Robert, you have to tell us what you’re going to do with your hair.” Clearly she had forgotten her earlier instructions!
Christmas, 1980. And it would get longer . . .
3) Interestingly enough, this morning I got an email from my barber shop announcing their reopening next week with some elaborate and appropriate changes for the Time of the Coronavirus, including but definitely not limited to: installation of a new air-purifying system, mandatory mask use by everyone (which also means no beard trimming, hot lather shaving, or facials), and no waiting inside before you’re called to the chair. To make the last easier, they are also getting rid of all their magazines and complimentary beverages. It sounds reassuring, but truly, I am loving my Great Big Hair so much, I’m not sure when I’ll be back for a shearing.
4) But I think it will have to happen at some point. As I’ve mentioned before, one advantage of working most of my career with elderly men is that I’ve had lots of examples of what I don’t want to be like. There are ways and ways to grow your hair out past the age of 50, and I have no interest in resembling Rip Van Winkle, Karl Lagerfeld*, or ZZ Top. So I will have to be very attentive when it starts looking like what I don’t want to look like.
*I am just not that sleek and streamlined and perfect, and it would wear me out.