|Antoher famed ponytailer, by illustrator Lisa Zador|
Remember my hair? No reason you should, really, but like it or not it has once more turned into a front-burner issue in what passes for my life.
As you may or may not remember, it's been getting longer. And longer. And mostly, I think, that's very good thing, as I it's still reasonably thick, has struck what seems a workable balance between salt and pepper, has a nice natural curl, and isn't receding as much as it really ought to be on a gentleman who is hurtling toward his sixth decade on this green earth (I'm sporting a great deal less forehead, for example, than Nicole Kidman - and I can still frown, for what that's worth).
But it's been nearly a year since I first thought seriously about such a weighty subject, and aside from a quick trim in Provincetown last summer, it's continued to grow. And grow.
And so, I've crossed a follicular Rubicon: I've started wearing a ponytail. Not all the time, but mostly on weekends and when I need it out of the way. Tonight, though, the New Look made its debut at a formal event. This time of year, you see, when for a very little while the Sandlands are blessedly cool, a great many parties are held outside, which is mostly a joy. The combination of perfect temperatures, lovely sunsets over the sea, and a little something pleasant to eat and (most of the time) drink can lend a certain charm to even the dreariest office party. However, these sundowners are also often accompanied by a fierce breeze, and by the end of one such outing last week, I more or less resembled Bridget Jones the time she went for an incautious ride in a convertible. So, over the weekend, I took the fateful step of upgrading from found rubber bands to hairties bought at the grocery store, brushed the hair back and tied it neatly up, put on my suit, and went to the office party.
It was, I think, rather a success. Certainly it was from a practical standpoint, for despite near gale force winds, I ended the evening as tidily as I began it. Those who commented did so favorably, and not all who commented depend on my good opinion for their bread and butter. it's pulled straight back, but not so tightly as to seem desperate, and the tail itself curls nicely under. I really think the effect is rather nice - less either the icon seen above or (worse) Jean-Claude Van Damme, and more an eighteenth-century gentleman sort of thing. I'd like to think it was a shade Banderas-esque, but I'm not that vain (although one person did raise the idea of Russell Crowe, which isn't wholly unpleasing as a comparator). It's certainly simple, compared to blowing it all out every day, and who doesn't need an extra 20 minutes in the morning?
In any case, I think I'm going to give it a whirl. What do you think of men with ponytails (bronytails?)? Is it aesthetically defensible, or am I fated to look like Karl Lagerfeld or worse?