DAY TWENTY-TWO: Being A Dickhead’s Cool

Lady Gaga told us that she’s “as free as her Hair”. Willow Smith became famous for whipping her “Hair back and forth”. Britney Spears is known for cutting hers off.  As an unwavering disciple of all-things-Pop-Culture, my time has come to follow in the footsteps of these celebrity powerhouses (well, the jury’s still out on Willow...) and use my hair to make a name for myself. Day 22 saw me go under the scissor for the sake of experiLentation.

Having completed over half of 40 Day Challenge, I now feel ready to officially call myself a Blogger. Well, almost. My cyber-baptism will not yet be complete until I openly embrace every aspect of a Blogger’s existence. And, in London, this means one thing: become a Shoreditch w**ker. A fully immersive commitment, this transformation is multi-facetted: fashion (skinny jeans and fake glasses), social life (nothing west of Old Street, obvi) and, of course, HAIR. With this in mind, I made an appointment at a local salon and took the plunge.

I gave my trendy hairdresser her instructions: clipper the back and sides, but don’t touch the length on top. To clarify, I added “make me East London”. She immediately understood and set to work.  We began with a Number 3 clipper length around the back and sides. Not enough, I told her. We slowly worked our way down the scale, my hair getting shorter and shorter. 2.5, 2 and finally 1.5. Any further and I would have been bald...

To fully gauge the significance of this haircut, you must understand that I love my hair. It is invariably long and flowing and I often go months without cutting it. My record is nearly a year and a half. Seeing huge clumps of my locks fall to the ground as they were shaved off was a difficult experience for me. What would I style in the morning? Where would the volume go? What will I flick when having a L’Oréal moment? All very important questions.

East is East and all that...

Luckily for me, the hairdresser followed my instructions to the letter, and left all my hair on top. Not only were my tresses still full of volume, but I truly did look like an East London Tw*t. All I need now is a fixie-bike and a packet of rolling tobacco and I’d be welcome into any of London’s finest squats. Well, that would be the case if I didn’t now hold an unquestionable similarity to a one-time X Factor wannabe, thus bringing my cool factor back down to zero. Ah well, can’t blame a boy for trying...

N.B. For the fans out there, please don’t worry. I may have a trendy ‘do, but I still look good. Some people call it vanity. I call it existing.

Day Twenty Two:  Have New Age Fun with a Vintage Feel! DONE!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx