Essay: LONGER HAIR IS NOT NECESSARILY HIPPIE

THE hair of the male human animal grows more slowly than crab grass—about ½ in. to 1 in. a month. But it never stops growing this side of the grave. Were it not for the tyranny of fashion, which insistently summons men to the barber, they might all conform to the Book of Leviticus, which commands that “Ye shall not round the corners of your heads, neither shalt thou mar the corners of thy beard.” In these shaggy times, which can produce a Van Cliburn, an Allan Ginsberg and a Joe Namath, not to mention the Beatles, the Monkees, the Rolling Stones and the entire male population of Haight-Ashbury, Leviticus’ 2,500-year-old injunction seems astonishingly up to date.

The Beatles may have triggered the trend; the hippies may be making a scissorless, combless and soapless travesty of it. But long hair has outgrown its parameters, traditionally described by the rebelliousness of youth and the self-consciousness of show business. It has become grey, middleaged, ubiquitous and eminently respectable, a coast-to-coast phenomenon that has infiltrated even the U.S. Army, that last bastion of the butch. Last March at Fort Ord, Calif., by command of the commanding officer, the compulsory 30-second scalp job for all recruits was succeeded by a permissive repertory of six hair styles.

These days, it seems, nobody wants to look like Hank Bauer except Hank Bauer. Certainly not Richard Nixon: despite a hereditary sparseness in front, his coiffure now rolls luxuriantly down the neck and trespasses on the ears. And certainly, certainly not Bobby Kennedy, who was once a neat trim but who lately resembles a sheep dog—or maybe a sheep. Presumably long hair is now a political asset, although Washington’s most notorious tousle, Everett Dirksen, declines comment as “below the pale.” Dirksen is at least known to have visited his barber before the 1952 Republican Convention, at which he appeared in a hairdo that would have thawed a drill sergeant’s heart.

Now He’s a Stylist

The barber is changing to accommodate the trend. Until 1957 his professional bible was called the Barber’s Journal. But that year its name was changed to the Barber’s Journal & Men’s Hairstylist, and seven years later the name changed again. It is now the Men’s Hairstylist & Barber’s Journal—a title eloquently testifying to the ascendancy of a less ruthless tonsorial breed.

It is still possible, of course, to get an ordinary oldfangled hair cropping at a decent price. But in increasing numbers, men are demanding something more. The new hair stylist gives it to them, at prices ranging from $6 to $100. The new shops do not even look like the old ones; they look like beauty parlors. Figuratively, and in some cases literally, they are. Manhattan’s Hair Design Associates, on St. Mark’s Place, caters to both men and women, although once the clients have been swaddled up to their necks in hair cloths it is sometimes difficult to tell. These lush and costly emporiums attract a surprisingly conservative trade. Roger, a hair stylist on East 58th Street in New York City, estimates that 75% of his customers are doctors, lawyers and businessmen.

Since the hair is more easily modified than, say, the nose or the chin, it is only predictable that every now and then man will decide to change it. After all, male vanity has always rivaled and frequently exceeded the female variety. One of the many theories now advanced in explanation of the new display of male plumage rests on the premise that the human peacock is merely showing his true feathers. “Perhaps man is coming into his biological destiny, suppressed in our Puritan milieu,” says Psychologist Robert D. Meade of Western Washington State College. “It is the male in all nature, you know, who spreads his gorgeous tail feathers and erects his ruff for the inconspicuous little brown mate.” Other speculation holds that the trend represents a concerted male effort, led by youth, to blur the lines distinguishing the two sexes. This area of thought suggests that the day of the caveman, whose present-day counterpart paraded his virility with such readily identifiable characteristics as the Prussian haircut, is in decline; the day of the womanly man who burns his draft card and lets his hair down is beginning to dawn. Flowing locks were once a symbol of virility, as the story of Samson bears witness,* and it is no longer safe to disparage the vigor of the man in shoulder-length curls. He may be a poet. But he may also be a member of the Hell’s Angels, a West Coast motorcycling fraternity whose maleness, however overexercised, lies beyond dispute.

And Beards, Too

Whatever the Freudian significance of hair and its style fluctuations, it seems probable that the root causes of the new trend are neither deep nor esoteric. Any understanding of it must begin by making a distinction between the hippie and the respectable non-hippie with longish hair.

The hippie is all juvenile protest. He wears his hair extravagantly long because short hair was once the Establishment’s style, and he opposes the Establishment. In a predominantly long-haired society—the African Bushman’s, for example—he would doubtless shave his skull. The respectable longhair, on the other hand, is protesting nothing, and, what’s more, his hair is only respectably long.

To be sure, the respectable longhair stands slightly in the hippie’s debt. The equivalence of long hair and youth appeals to middle age; the 50-year-old may not look any younger or more like an actor if he lets his hair grow out —or asks his hair stylist to tease a bit more body into it—but he thinks he does. So do many women, the ultimate stylesetters for men. Long hair is also a way of advertising the distance a man has moved upward in a culture now more than ever devoted, in a time of expanding income and leisure, to the luxuries both provide. Good grooming is only part of it. The new American male also goes to the opera, masters a few French phrases, perhaps buys an elegant Edwardian suit and tours the Continent—where many of the latest styles, including long hair, originated. Good grooming is the most visible part of it; any investment, however steep, pays off just beyond the hair stylist’s door. It is worth noting that, since 1953, the U.S. male has spent more money—and conceivably more time—in the beauty shop. The manufacture of perfumed products for men has risen by 400% since 1950; some colognes are now sold by the gallon. In 1948, two out of three men used aftershave lotions; today nine out of ten do.

The test of any new trend is acceptance. Long hair passes the test. During the protest stage some three years ago, when brow-shrouding male tresses bloomed all over the classroom, they drew down a withering fire from the academic Establishment. Today most of the hirsute scholars are back at their desks, tolerated if not entirely approved. “We ignore it,” says C. W. McDonald, dean of men at Western Washington State College. “We do absolutely nothing against long hair even if it’s down to their heels.”

Will it go that far? It seems unlikely, but there are sociologists as well as barbers who believe that still more men will start growing still more hair and that the moustache and beard will proliferate. However, in the light of historical evidence that how men wear their hair is cyclical, it may turn out that the next generation will feel an urge to be clean-cheeked and crew-cut—or even bald.

*It is sometimes forgotten that after Delilah’s cruel intervention, Samson raised another crop of hair and slew the Philistines.