Soon after we moved here, I stopped cutting my hair.
One of the great things about Taos is that you can be anything you want, and no way was I going to miss out on that. Back in Maryland, long hair was not only less acceptable socially but nearly impossible to tolerate during hot, humid summers. In Taos, it was almost too conventional, but I’d never really had the chance before, so off I went. Saved a bunch of money, too.
My wife hates that I haven’t at least had it trimmed a little, now that it’s so long, but I like the split ends look. Between me and the cat, though, the shedding is ridiculous. Every morning there’s a twisted skein of silver hair on the front edge of the cushion of my chair where it pulls off from my big fleece bathrobe. There’s hair all over the carpets. Yes, it’s thinning rapidly on the top of my head, so I am surely doomed. One more reason to flaunt it while I can.
The “old hippie” look is clichéd, I know. In these parts, however, you find a lot of scary wild-ass dudes with hair lots longer than mine.* Indians, especially. The style is regional and traditional, in other words, and even pretty cool, if you avoid the Birkenstocks-with-socks thing favored by old lefties and bad poets. It’s just the multitudes of silver-haired Anglos aping the same look that give me pause, although not enough to get a trim. Not yet. And sometimes it’s a relevant tribal identifier, just like in the (early) old days. This has undeniable benefit and greases rusty wheels.
Take our “wood guy,” for instance. He’s just a year younger than I am and has long gray hair hanging down onto his chest. When he showed up today, he had a rolled bandana tied around his head and looked like one of Geronimo’s lieutenants. A special dude, folks, and we hit it off like long-lost brothers. He brings us the finest resin-soaked piñon in the world, too. When I build a fire, it usually takes just one match on a single stick of pitchwood to start a roaring blaze without a bit of paper. This is so damned slick, I can hardly stand it, and that’s not all:
“So, what’s the going rate this year?” [pulling out my checkbook]
“I was going to talk to you about that…”
“I thought so!”
“I’ve been charging you $150, but I’m charging everyone else $175. We can keep it at $150, ’cause you’re my bro’ and I know how things are, or you can bump it up to $160 or whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Well, he had me there. I gave him a check for $175, of course. Nothing to do with the hair, although we never know, do we? I dig it so much to have a relationship like this at my age, no matter how screwed up I thought I was. We traded manly hugs and he was gone. Geronimo’s lieutenant bringing me nuclear piñon from the top of a mountain, hair flying in the breeze…
When I was in my 20s in the Ozarks, long hair nearly got me killed. Now that I’m a walking contradiction with flapping jowels, it helps keep me alive: I’m weird enough to walk into a cafe full of local bad-asses and no one stares. I heat my house. I get free yarn. So NOW, of course, it’s falling out!
Ah well.
At least the vacuuming will eventually be easier.
* There’s a chapter in BUFFALO LIGHTS about this very subject.
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We all would find common brothers/sisters if we let our hair down.
Wonderful post, John.
Yep – another Dandy….and again I envy your Taos pals as well as your lifestyle, and views, (both of the Landscape AND in general) and even your “comfortable” casita…Keep ‘em coming!
Well, there’s no view right now: clouds and drizzle have blanked out the mountains! By Sunday that will probably be snow, maybe a lot of it. At least we have wood!
then of course there was that time you described when you were coming to/from iowa or wherever, and walked into that cafe/restaurant in nebraska or wherever, and the hostess just laughed in your face because you looked like a “weirdo”. bloody judgmental conformist normals, fuck ‘em!
since i’ve had to be the Responsible Adult (or at least do a good job of faking it) this last decade (taking care of my folks & all the stuff you already know about) i’d been keeping my hair short. but when it was time recently to get another trim, i called my barber (a really cool brit and buddy i’ve known for at least a dozen years) and there was no answer. nor from his cell, nor email. i don’t know what happened (i hope nothing too terrible) but he’s apparently out of business and has effectively dropped off the face of the earth. so rather than go to whichever random person at the local supercuts i’ve decided to let it grow out again – 15 years ago i had it down to my nipples, so we’ll see how far it goes this time! (though i do keep my bangs trimmed to keep it out of my eyes and so i don’t inhale it into my nose when i snore and wake myself up).
In addition to “getting it” when you talk about the Taos fashion sense – or total, all-accepting lack thereof – I just have to say how much I love the way you write. Like honey dripping off those long gray strands of yours. Thanks for letting the rest of us gobble it up! Take care.
Number 6, I hear ya. Mine is below my nips right now!
And KarenK: Why, thank you! And you’re very welcome. I may very well get my hair trimmed sometime soon, actually, just enough so that I can more easily let it be loose instead of tied up in a ponytail. But it’s not a high priority, and I’m very lazy.
JHF, ever notice it’s never the dam split-ends that fall out.
Great Post as ever.
Sorry, that should have read Recession.