On The Gold Coast: Hair
A young person dressed in khaki shorts and shirt and wearing heavy work boots passed us on the roadway. As he walked briskly ahead the wind caught his shoulder-length hair, blowing it about. My daughter watched in silence for a moment then, obviously puzzled, said "She was a funny windy man, wasn't it mummy?''
Judith Wallis writes of hair styles, then and now.
There is an unfamiliar bottle in the bathroom cupboard and picking it up I read the label.
Extra Hold Styling Gelče. For shape and control.
With mallow flower, rose hips and clover in mountain spring water.
I take sniff. It smells nice. Like the English downs on a soft autumn day.
Forty years ago it would have been the well known Brylcream, a favourite of most men wishing to keep their hair in place. I have a fond memory of mistakenly walking in on my kid brother as he stood on a stool before the bathroom mirror. His arms raised, he swished a stolen daub of father’s Brylcream over his hair and combed it through with his fingers. He grinned sheepishly at me, his eyes begging me not to tell.
My brother was twelve years old and had just discovered girls really were girls and what better way to impress them than with a fine head of sculptured carrot-coloured hair?
When the Beatles came, Brylcream went. And hair flew free as youngsters filled the dance halls to gyrate in a way that shocked their parents and gave birth to new means of self expression through rock and roll.
By 1962 the short back and sides hair cut for boys was disappearing fast. Many adults fought to uphold the familiar and justify tradition. Lads who dared to grow their hair over their shirt collars risked being suspended and even expelled from school. Employers fired staff who refused to comply with traditional short hair styles, seeing them as untidy and unacceptable.
My military minded uncle declared, ‘Men are men and long hair is only for women and sissies. Conscript the long haired louts into compulsory military training. That will fix them!’
Hair styles for women were also extreme. Firstly cropped close to achieve the gamine look reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn, then back-combed to breaking point to create an enormous bouffant.
At the time the bouffant madness overtook us, I received a rib cracking welcome home bear-hug from the above uncle. This painful condition prevented me raising my arms. Unable to tease my hair into the required puff ball, I walked to the hairdresser’s salon each morning for several weeks and paid him to dress my hair before I went to work. Now I can only shake my head in a bemused way to think I was so proud and foolish.
At the height of this kerfuffle I was out walking one windy day with my three year old daughter. A young person dressed in khaki shorts and shirt and wearing heavy work boots passed us on the roadway. As he walked briskly ahead the wind caught his shoulder-length hair, blowing it about. My daughter watched in silence for a moment then, obviously puzzled, said ‘She was a funny windy man, wasn’t it mummy?''
Yes. We were all confused for a while.
And now it seems, after years of allowing his silver baby-soft hair to fall over his eyes, our-man-about-the-house is using the grandson’s latest ‘Must have’ --- hair gel.
