Hair

Yet another landmark on the road to adulthood yesterday: for the first time, I had my hair cut by someone I’m pretty sure was younger than me. He was an amiable Polish guy with a sturdy agrarian grip on my head, but he did insist that he couldn’t cut my hair any shorter. Now, I always have my hair cut very short, and then just leave it to grow for three months or more – this is clearly not something the barbers in London are used to, as I always have to ask them to take more off. Alas, he felt he couldn’t actually cut it any shorter (total rubbish – I have had my hair cut shorter many times before) and suggested shaving it number 7, I think, all over.

I’ve generally resisted just having my hair shaved, even leaving a “normal” length on – in the past, but decided to try it. And it looks OK – only slightly shorter than I’d normally have it cut, and almost certainly the shortest I’ve ever had my hair. But it’s obvious it hasn’t been cut – it does look quite different.

Most shocking of all, however, is how obvious it makes it that my hair now sits, shall we say, higher on my head than it used to. I’m definitely not thinning generally, but I’ve got a bit more forehead than was traditionally the case. Still, what’s there is still fairly thick, albeit moving backwards a little, and if my father is anything to go by I’ve got the thick end of three decades before it actually starts falling out on top noticeably.

This is a sharp contrast to some other of my older male friends, who I occasionally see from Facebook are unequivocally balding. This is especially startling for people I’ve not seen since school, when we were all 18. So I’m not overly concerned – indeed, I’ll stop now before I start sounding smug.

Newly shorn, I rounded off the day by seeing an old friend I’d never met before. All told, a pleasant day!

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