Around the start of March I opted for a new haircut. I prefer to have longer hair because I’ve got good hair and because I think it’s a look more reflective of my spirit. Unfortunately I’ve got a wilful head of hair which meant that some days I might look a million dollars, but there were many more days when I looked untidy and decidedly un-corporate.
I decided to go for a David Beckham type style, which excited my hairdresser no end – he’s been trying to get me to go shorter for yonks. As it happens it’s a style that suits my hair type, and though it was quite novel for me at first it was a lot easier to manage. Most importantly perhaps, it went down a treat with my audience.
I went into work the next week and got all sorts of positive comments. The general consensus was that I’d become quite handsome overnight. That was the sort of positive affirmation I was after and I went home chuffed.
A couple of weeks ago I went back to my hairdresser. Like most gentlemen of my vintage I’ve now got a few grey hairs. They’re not so easy to spot in my hair – I’m blonde – but I found that overall it made my hair a bit duller in aspect. Used to be I had beautiful hair that everyone would comment on. I took it for granted probably, but suddenly I was missing the soft glow my hair once had. On just this one occasion I decided to get some colour in my hair.
I used to do it much more often. At my most fashionable I’d get blonde highlights put through my hair. Nothing too garish, more subtle and stylish than that. I wasn’t looking to make a statement, but rather complement what I already had. Unlike a lot of blokes I had no real qualms about that. I grew up in a household in which my mum was a very strong advocate for appearance and style. Over the years she had a multitude of different hair styles, and had it coloured more often than not – on top of which she was always beautifully dressed. She wanted that for her children too, especially me, and I remember the very first time I got my hair coloured. I must have been about 14, at the Biba hair salon in the complex at Greensborough.
So anyway I turned up to get my hair coloured for the first time in about ten years. All I wanted was to take the grey hairs in my head and make then a subtle blonde. It was a look that people might not notice at a micro level, but would enhance the overall aspect of my hair – less flat, more bright.
I was happy with the outcome, and nobody noticed I had my hair coloured. But then people began to comment on my overall look. Someone said I looked ten years younger. The positive feedback I was receiving before amped up further. Combined with the fact that my enforced diet has made me much fitter I am in large part a transformed man (outwardly; working on the inward). The positive reception has been huge and gratifying, even if I don’t necessarily see what all the fuss is about – I look in the mirror and see a traditionally handsome man, not the rad dude I was before.
These changes have had unintended consequences. In recent times a bunch of trainees have come on board and are working in a room near where I sit. All but one of them is female, and the eldest would be about 27. There are some very girls among them.
I’m always friendly, and of course I’m always running into them. I know most by name now and have often shared a joke and some harmless banter, as is my way. They’re much too young for me to look at except as really nice girls. Some of them see it differently.
One of them has been playfully aggressive with me, even suggestive. Handsome she calls me whenever she sees me. She talks about what a good catch I am as if I might want to prove it to her.
Another – a real knock-out – has a sensual playfulness towards me. She’s really nice, but has that ring of confidence about her, as if she knows the power she has over men. I think she sees me as a challenge, and I suspect her main interest is to draw my attention to her.
The last is a lovely girl who is just plain and simple sweet on me. No ulterior motives, no games, she just thinks I’m a lovely guy and sends all these positive vibes my way. She’s very receptive and wants to work with me.
All this is flattering, and maybe a bit more than that. I’m hoping that I don’t have to actively fend any off. Even if the circumstances were different I don’t think I’d be any more interested. The circumstances are such though that I know what I want and who – I just hope she’s just as impressed with the re-fashioned me as the rest of the world appears to be.