After months of letting it grow out into a slightly shaggy mane, I got my hair cut yesterday morning. I usually go for a “high and tight” jobber, but this time I wanted something that retained a portion of my bangs. After some confusing back and forth with the barber, I ended up with splitting the difference between my regular ‘do and a side-shave.
As I was washing out the pomade and stray flecks of buzzed off hair in the kitchen sink, I realized the hybrid style was a more respectable version of the one I wore during my punk rock phase.
This being Halloween, it inspired me to indulge in a bit of dress-up. A dab of styling gel and a quick rummage through the closet and voila —
– it was like the past twenty-five years never happened.
“This is so freaky,” said Maura. “I’m getting weird flashbacks.”
It was pretty weird on my end, as well. The way my old jacket still perfectly conformed to my perma-slouch, the familiar jingle-jangle when I walked around in it, the muscle memory autopilot for spiking my bangs against the part, the fact that the jacket was only bit of the ensemble I hadn’t already been wearing as my everyday wardrobe…
The look isn’t one I assumed would age well, but I think I carried it off better yesterday than I did at age nineteen. Not that I have any plans to swim against that particular current. It’s great to know that I’ve still got it (for very specific values of “it”) but I’m content to bask in the residual ego boost and avoid the temptation to slip into self-parody.
The knowing alone is good enough for me.