My Hairstyle

A Bad Case of the Bangs

Recently I had a disturbing hairstyle revelation. This happened in the swimming pool. The temperature in Miami was 90 degrees, so Michelle and I decided to get into the pool to cool off, which was pretty stupid because the pool was also 90 degrees, but more humid. It was like plunging into a vat of gumbo.

But that is not my point. My point is that, while in the pool, I ducked my head underwater, and when I came up, all my hair was plastered directly backward on my head, like the hair on the models in men's-fragrance advertisements — you know, the ridiculously handsome, ripped, semi-naked men who are often depicted emerging from a pool, water glistening on their sculpted bodies as they stare at the camera with a gaunt, brooding expression that says: "It has been two years since I last ingested a carbohydrate."

Note that I am NOT saying I looked like those models. I question whether I belong to the same species as those models. I'm merely saying that when I came up from underwater, my hair was slicked back in a manner similar to theirs.

That is not how my hair naturally goes. My hair naturally goes straight down, so that it forms bangs. I have an incurable case of bangs. Here's a picture of my hair in its natural state:

I have essentially the same natural hairstyle as a coconut.

It's also the hairstyle of a horse I encountered several years ago in Ketchum, Idaho.

This horse, whom I will call Arnold (not his real name) (also he might be a she; I didn't check) trotted right up to me, as if he (or she) wanted to say something, specifically: "You and I have the same hairstyle! But I'm a horse. What's YOUR excuse?"

Arnold was right, of course. Bangs are not considered to be an appropriate hairstyle for a grown man, unless that man is one of the Three Stooges.

One solution to the bangs problem, of course, is to use some kind of hair-control product such as gel or mousse or hairspray. I have a wonderful hairdresser named Leila who uses products on my hair, and when I leave her salon I look like an adult with a real haircut for several hours, until my bangs regain consciousness. But that's only once a month or so. The rest of the time I'm on my own, and I've never used any product on my hair except shampoo, or as the French call it — because God forbid the French should use the same word we do for anything — "shampooing."

What I do, instead of using a hair-control product, is reflexively brush my bangs sideways with my hand several thousand times a day, the result being that for a few seconds, my hair looks like this:

Then almost immediately it goes back to:

I've been battling with my bangs for my entire life. By way of proof, here's my yearbook photo, from my senior year as a member of the Pleasantville (N.Y.) High School Class of 1965:

This photo was undoubtedly taken moments after I brushed my bangs sideways (back then I brushed them in the opposite direction) (not that it made any difference). Notice, as we zoom in, that two tentacles of hair have already started creeping down my forehead in an effort to turn back into bangs:

And that's why in my yearbook photo, which is presumably the best image of me that the photographer was able to get, I look like I have some kind of weird claw formation on my forehead.

Anyway, to return to the hairstyle revelation I had in the swimming pool: Having just surfaced, I was standing there with my wet hair slicked straight back, and I had a thought, which I expressed to Michelle. I don't remember the exact words, but the essence was: "Maybe I should wear my hair this way all the time! Ha ha!"

I was making a lighthearted humorous remark. What I expected Michelle to say in response was something like: "Don't be silly! I love the way you wear your hair, with your age-inappropriate bangs that I have been watching you ineffectually brush sideways several thousand times a day for thirty years!"

But instead what she said, while looking at my slicked-back hair, was: "Hmm." That's literally all she said. But I could tell what she meant. What she meant was, "Actually, since you bring it up, I might like this look better."

And that made me wonder: Am I a complete idiot? Have I been wearing my hair wrong for MY ENTIRE LIFE? Is it finally time, as I rapidly close in on my SEVENTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, to actually DO SOMETHING ABOUT THESE STUPID BANGS?

So I decided to conduct an experiment. I went to the drugstore and bought some hair pomade — or, as the French call it, "pomading." This is the brand I bought:

The container says this pomade is "medium hold." I can't imagine how strong "maximum hold" is, because the "medium" could be used in dam construction. I thought I was going to need the Jaws of Life to pry my fingers off my head.

Anyway, here's how my hair looked after I pomaded it:

I asked Michelle, who took this photo, what she thought. She said — this is a direct quote — "Hmm."

So we know where she stands.

Me, I do not care for it, for two reasons:

1. It felt like the creature from "Alien" — the one that's always chasing Sigourney Weaver around — was clinging to my scalp.

2. It looks as though there is room to put a regulation pickleball court on my forehead.

So Michelle and I seem to be at odds on this issue. And that means it's time for you paying subscribers to weigh in by voting in the following scientific poll (or, as the French call it, "polling"). You may rest assured that I will seriously consider your views, and if enough of you vote for me to change my hairstyle, I probably won't. That is my personal pledge to you.