Column: Rocking the lockdown look of long hair and old tour band t-shirts
Hip and trendy are not descriptions ever applied to me.
But, according to The Guardian, long hair is de rigeur for men post lockdown.
We’re embracing our tousled looks, and revelling in the feeling of the wind blowing through our split ends.
Move over George Clooney with your suave, immaculately groomed, short silver hair and matching goatee - there’s a new 50-something style icon in town, and he’s dressed to impress.
True lockdown fashionistas don’t have to try too hard to make a statement.
Actually, we don’t try at all, which probably explains why it can be hard to tell us apart from beggars outside supermarkets when we hang around waiting on our other halves doing the shopping. I have to keep moving outside Safeway to deter folk from chucking 50p my way for a cup of tea.
It’s probably something to do with the long hair/useless clumpy beard combo.
Both are in need of some hair salon TLC - okay, they’re in such a state it’s more akin to a rescue mission - but they stick comfortably to me, much like those 15-year old rock band old tour t-shirts I’ve re-discovered since shedding the best part of two stones weight. If I get a haircut that should be another 2-3lbs off as well.
It’s been cut once since circa February 2020 - and yup, it shows.
In terms of length, I’m currently somewhere between Rick Wakeman in his 1970s pomp, and David Torrance MSP before Nicola Sturgeon made the first cut for charity.
I haven’t had hair this long since I was 18, lived in an Iron Maiden sweatshirt, and adhered to Ian Gillan’s old maxim of ”everything louder than everything else” when it came to playing my records.
I’ll admit long hair is a pain when it gets windy, and it seems to lie everywhere as I move from room to room. Haven’t even got a pet I can blame the debris on.
But that hair appointment just hasn’t happened yet.
The “I’ll wait until the rush is over” excuse is pretty much time barred. Now it’s just bone idleness on my part - well, that and the fact it’ll require a double appointment and a team of hand picked specialists to transform the pandemic mop on my head into anything socially acceptable.
I’ve also discovered that twirling strands of hair is not big and not clever for as 57-year old – and only ends in wee knots, but I still do it.
But, in lockdown the normal rules haven’t applied.
It took dress down Friday and extended it to seven days a week.
If clothes maketh the man, then, right now, I’m probably Barney from The Simpsons crossed with a bass player from a 1970s rock band you vaguely remember.
Since lockdown, the iron has been booted to the back of the wardrobe, suits have been hung up and forgotten, and even ‘proper’ shoes - y’know, one that require a bit of polish every few months - left on the rack.
For the last 12 months my wardrobe has been jeans, shorts, a pair of camouflage breeks and two sets of gutties.
It’s going to be one heck of a culture shock when the office re-opens and I have to blow the dust of my working claes.