May Contain Peanuts

Mein Coif

Before I get into today's witticism, I would like to point out that this is the 50th entry into MCP, a milestone I certainly had doubts I would reach. Surprisingly, my desire to write about this and that has continued on beyond that initial moment of inspiration and continues to spill forth on these virtual pages, of which I could not be happier.

While we are on the subject of me, let me continue to discuss more about me.

I consider myself to be of average height, perhaps a smaller build, but pretty average overall. Aiding in that claim of average is my choice of haircut, and by choice, I mean I can go into any cuttery and just say "haircut" and it comes out the same. It's the typical young professional guy style; short on the sides and back, with just a bit of length on the top and front. I call this patch of length 'the expression zone' and the object of today's thoughts.

Nothing can be considered a more crucial facial accessory than facial hair, but for the whitey-white Irish blooded, actually growing this hair of the face into an acceptable, reasonable look is quite the challenge. I know I am not a fan of patchy scraggliness, so I doubt anyone looking at me and the scraggles are either. What results is a much higher focus on the aforementioned 'zone' atop my forehead. It's a manageable little tuft that can swing to the side, stick straight up, wave in a multitude of directions, or just hang limply and lifeless (make your own simile). What I have noticed is that whatever this area of hair is up to that day, my emotional, mental or physical mood is similar in status.

Weekends are usually the best time to catch this phenomenon in action. Often, quite often, I will awake with a morning malaise, no doubt incurred by the previous night's shenanigans. If not given away by the expression on my face, my forehead hair will admittedly tell the tale. Out of place, matted, and swirled all over, it's obvious there is a person underneath hurting on the inside. On the contrary, on those rare mornings where the sun is shining and I'm ready to conquer the world, the 'EZ' will slightly rise and shape itself into one damn good looking wisp of follicles. My status is then supplemented by the reflection I view in the mirror. Surprisingly (and this is what made me think of writing this piece), I seem to able to alter my feelings by adjusting that little patch above my eyes. Now, it's not anything miraculous, but it does have an effect. A simple brush to the side, a gentle tousing, or my favorite, a scalp messaging finger run through to ease some tension, all help to rejuvenate an earlier lesser state.

What I am wondering is whether this is purely my own vain self-importance or is it that making yourself appear more attractive (to yourself, and it turn, others) actually make you feel better. I personally have no way of altering my facial appearance (no makeup, no jewelry, no facial hair - damn patches), so this forehead beard is the only area I have to mix things up and determine whether I am looking really really ridiculously good or not. So, I fumble with my hair, I flash a LaTigra and I'm feeling better about myself. I abhor the fashion industry and the self-importance therein, and was never really concerned about external appearances, but I'm starting to rethink the value of feeling attractive. Granted, fashion and attractiveness do not necessarily have to be related, as self-confidence is a far better partner of attractiveness than fashion, but appearance is always in front of us (literally) and even the smallest effort can pay off. I am fortunate enough to be quite confident in my self and my standing, but that little extra superficial effort actually appears worthwhile.

I guess my point is to take the extra second and gaze lovingly at yourself in the morning. Change what you need, but I am putting forth that liking (or not liking) what you see will affect your disposition for the rest of the day. There's no cure for ugly, but at least there's a new hairstyle.