Assuming the large Hadron collider hasn’t disintegrated the universe (check here) making it a moot point, I’ve been considering a change of image. Specifically, a haircut.
Having had the same dopey ponytail since I was 17, and seeing how impressed Fiona was with my return to a minimalist goatee beard, I’ve been wondering if it’s time for the Morrissey pompadour*, or the Stray Cats Quiff or something else entirely. Looking at this site it seems that even having buggger all hair isn’t a massive disadvantage. A bonus for someone of my advancing years.
Trouble is, a week after going to the goatee, I’m already looking at my face in a mirror and seeing Mr Potato-head looking back at me and wondering if I’ve done the right thing. And a beard only takes weeks to grow back.
It’s tough being a fashion victim.
*for the befuddled, a Pompadour is the big stick-y up flat top type affair sported by Moz, James Dean and all the hep cats in 1955. Not to be confused with a Pompier, which is a French fireman who has no business on the top of my head. Punchline left as an exercise for the reader.