On Haircuts

These days, I like to get out of the shower with my hair already done. I go to the same Vietnamese barbershop every time and get a #3 on the sides and a #7 on the top, straight across the back. My wife tells me I look like a Navy officer.

I like that part.

Back in the day, I always wanted to have long hair. Best of all would have been a braided, viking look. I was a heavy metal head banger, you know. My hair would never cooperate. With any amount of length at all came curls. People sometimes told me I looked like Art Garfunkel.

This is Art, not me. In any case, it's hideous.

If my hair got really long, gravity would pull it down to some extent, but the ends would still curl with the result that I looked like either Bozo the Clown or Ludwig von Beethoven. Horrible.

Those failures took forever to deter me. I've got a photo or two from the late 70s or early 80s where I had hair down to my shoulders. I can still remember the moment where it became painfully obvious I looked like a dork. In an instant, nothing but a haircut would do even though it was morning and I had places to be.

If I recall, I waited until that evening to be shorn of my hopeless locks. I do know that if you had told my earlier self that someday I'd be happy to get a buzz cut, I'd have laughed in your face.