To Baldly Go?

Ok.Here’s the deal. I’m 42 and still wearing the same haircut (I use the term loosely) as I have done since I was allowed to make these aesthetic decisions for myself. My hair has been described as a ‘mop,’ by the Daily Mail as ‘a retro perm, (I hasten to add I’ve never been near a roller in my life) and as ‘an explosion in a wig factory.’ I’ve always liked it, meself. When I decided to go into Showbiz, I had these grand ideas about playing Shakespeare in a puffy-sleeved shirt, with my hair flopping about in unruly ringlets. In fact, most of the parts I got, I’m sure, were down to my hairstyle; my first TV job was as a surfer, I played a jockey in the Bill because I looked like the flat-racer Johnny Frankham, played a ne’er do well in Far From the Madding Crowd and I was cast as a murderer in Corrie, because I looked a bit different. Theatre-wise, I got to do a lot of period stuff; Shakespeare, La Barca and even an IRA hitman in the 80’s. My hair opened doors for me – but not like Medusa’s hair might’ve done. We’re talking figuratively.

So here’s the problem. Once upon a time, I looked a bit like this:





However, as time went by, it became less – shall we say -‘lustrous.’ And it got to a point a couple of years back when – strike me down with a feather – there was that sobering moment when my hairdesser showed me the back of my  head. You know what I’m saying.

Now, I’ve never thought of myself as particularly vain; I don’t subscribe to fashion, I don’t moisturise and rarely raised a brush in anger to my bonce. But, for some reason, I can’t bring myself to have a haircut; a proper one. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had short hair before and liked it, but it tends to make me look like this:






Which isn’t so bad but, in my head, I’m not that; I’m a bit of a fluffy nerk that people are able to approach on sight because I radiate harmlessness like a shockwave. And,  the problem isn’t really with the front of my head; the problem’s at the back, which was recently described as looking like ‘a chimpanzee’s arse.’

So, whaddo I do, folks? Hand on for one more year or bite the bullet and buy a hockey mask for my new image? Your thoughts are graciously requested and a decision may well be made on the back of them…

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