A Man Of A Certain Age

I am a man of a certain age. When forced to tick boxes I tick the 35-40 one. 38 to be precise. What happens when you become a man of a certain age is that you need to consider things more carefully. Decisions that would have come very easily to you in your younger years now require more delicate consideration. You simply can’t get away with the things you did at 25 when you are 38. One of those decisions that is troubling me greatly at the moment, and forgive the shallowness, is what to do with my hair???

I have always used my hair as a form of expression (well, to a degree, just go with my theatrics please). In Year 11 I dramatically home-dyed my hair ‘Mahogany’ with the help of Holly Jones primarily because all the girls were doing it. After a few washes it went pink. Horrendous! After this incident it was salon highlights only for me for a few years until my money ran out at Uni. My first holidays I came home to Griffith with brittle, yellow, bottle-bleached hair shaved to the skin at the sides in an off-centre Mohawk. Sheer panic rippled through my family. Uni became one long list of shocking haircuts and even worse colours, more often then not resulting in me having to shave my head.

Once out in the workforce my impulsive decisions regarding hair calmed down significantly as I attempted to cultivate a corporate image. I settled into a lovely cycle of cutting-edge Oxford St cuts always with honey-highlights. Whatever cut was fashionable with the boys at The Albury than that’s what I got. The blonde remained for many years to the point I got the shock of my life close to 30 when I realised I wasn’t actually blonde. Obviously too much bleach on the scalp resulted in me BELIEVING I was a natural blonde. It was a sobering moment at my 30^th to finally admit my natural colour was a dirty, mousey brown.

My hair is completely average and boring in every way. My dream from when I was a little boy was to have long flowing locks that I could tie back in a slick ponytail. This will scare you but many times over the years – most recently as 2008 – I have attempted this incredibly stylish look. Neil at Moody Hair put it best – “NO”. So now, as a man of a certain age, my options for self-expression are significantly decreased!

I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. Do I try to pull off some Emo/Gen Y/Jersey Shore cut that screams “I’m 105 but trying to look 22”? Or do I go with what my heart desires and that’s a head full of honey highlights pulled back in a ponytail? Or, and we all know this is what I’ll eventually do, do I go for the plain and simple, completely inoffensive cut from my local guy? You just know I’ll play it safe because that is what a man of a certain age should do. The days of experimenting and trying to be one of the cool-kids are sadly and depressingly behind me. If I don’t play by the rules I risk being described as ‘mutton dressed up as lamb’ and no man of a certain age wants that.