Hello, Bluey

One of my earliest memories is also one of my most unpleasant ones. I was two years old and I was getting my hair cut for the first time. More precisely, and in accordance with tradition, I was getting my hair shaved. While I bawled inconsolably, a brutish barber took a razor to my locks (I might add that they were rich, curly, shoulder-length locks). Ever since then I've taken a very dubious view of haircuts. In fact, that first experience was so traumatic that I think it passed into genetic memory. Now every time my son gets his hair cut he yells as if we were tickling him with a red-hot poker.

But as much as I dislike getting my hair cut, I quite enjoy getting it coloured. I've been doing it for a few years now, and in that time I've slowly upped the redness quotient. Shortly before I first started this blog, I had got it done in a mahogany colour, hence the pseudonym that I chose for myself. This weekend I decided it was finally time to go all the way. So I sauntered across to the salon and nonchalantly told the hairdresser to pick me a shade of red. Carine suggested a particularly vivid shade. She looked at me apprehensively to see what my reaction would be. But we agreed that the whole point of hair color is for it to be visible. From that point there was no turning back.

I'll admit to slight misgivings when I saw the color mix that they were going to apply. It was somewhere between bubblegum pink and a sickly turn on watermelon red. But I decided to trust the professional and see what that led to.

Two hours and a shampoo-and-rinse later it was time for the grand unveiling. I'd done it! I was now a redhead! Carine was quite pleased with her handywork too, and celebrated by giving me the longest haircut I've ever had.

When my wife RJ saw what I'd done she was not pleased. At the best of times she is sceptical about hair color. And when it comes to my experiments, her scepticism usually turns into outright dismay. So it was no surprise that she thought this time I'd gone off my rocker. Luckily for her she was leaving town for a week so she'd have some time to get used to the idea that she was now married to a carrot.

Meanwhile, reaction from friends and colleagues has been interesting. It's ranged from appreciative (from people who have good taste or are scared of me or both) to stunned (from Philistines who think that you're only well-groomed if you blend into the wallpaper) to clueless (like my friend who did not even realize that I was looking any different from the day before).

That last one reminded me of a guy I used to know in college. I met him one day after one of my annual haircuts, where I started with hair below my shoulders and ended with it above my ears. He stared at me for several seconds and then in a plaintive voice he asked "I don't know why, but you look different today. Have you shaved your beard?" As it happened, I had shaved my beard. But that was really besides the point.

At any rate, I have now completed my journey to redness. Next stop: purple highlights.