The Politics of Hairstyles

          Last week, during a small social gathering, conversation turned to the anticipated reopening of hairdressers. One of our company, a woman I had never met before, was especially keen to book her appointment. She apologised for the state of her hair, although it looked fine to me. “Ah,” she said, “but it doesn’t usually look like this.” I replied, “And mine doesn’t usually look like this,” to which she said, “Really? It looks fine to me!” and we agreed that we had become so used to our respective cultivated images that we are blind to what others see. Two days later, and despite the fact that I had been toying with the notion of reverting to the untamed locks and full beard I sported in 1972, I bottled it and went for a haircut. I came out looking like the person I want others to see – a conventional, liberal, white, male, educated, middle-class boomer.

          My 1970s look is over, for sure, but the decade lives on. In ‘74 I parted company (amicably) with my then close circle of friends. They all drifted from London to Sydney, while I opted for Manchester (it’s a long story). We kept in touch: at first there were airmail letters and a few rationed phone calls; later, there were occasional visits; then Facebook made frequent contact possible. Lockdown, however, has been an unexpected catalyst in strengthening the group bond. Zoom meetings have become a weekly fixture and occasion to marvel at the endurance of friendships formed so long ago. Inevitably, much of our time is spent reminiscing which, though heart-warming, can be problematic. One person’s memory is not like another’s so, when asked to recollect a significant moment during a concert, for example, one can’t even be sure of one’s presence at the time. Such moments can be embarrassing or even controversial.

          The current generation of youngsters, busily bonding away, will have no such problem fifty years hence. All their social interactions will be stored in the cloud in the form of photos, videos, blogs and Facebook posts – all date-stamped and geo-tagged for absolute accuracy of recall. There will be no arguments about who was where, when and why. All they will have to do is press ‘re-run’, relax and soak up the incontrovertible evidence of their meticulously documented youthful indiscretions. Meanwhile, we of a previous era hold up dog-eared, faded photos – often without so much as a date scrawled on the back – to the webcam for scrutiny.

          One such is a photo of me in my hirsute glory, sporting the authentically un-groomed style that marked us out as anti-establishment and served as a visual emblem of our liberal politics. What a dream that was. Fifty years on and it seems no longer attainable. We have failed to persuade the majority that their interests are not best served by minorities with a selfish agenda and we are lumbered with political leaders who reject socialism with a vengeance. Of late, I have engaged in a last-ditch attempt at political discourse with conservatives, giving it my best shot with rational, reasoned arguments aimed at changing their minds.

          But I’ve had a major setback to my hopes this week: a book by behavioural psychologist Antony Haidt undermines my approach. Haidt demonstrates why it is impossible to convert a conservative to a liberal by reasoned argument. Political views are founded in moral beliefs – what is considered fair or harmful. But fair or harmful to whom?  The rational moralist might incline towards inclusive socialism. But Haidt claims that morality is predominantly intuitive and socially ingrained. Such morality binds and blinds its adherents, so that they vote according to group loyalty. If I want to make headway against Trump and Johnson supporters, I must change my tactics. Perhaps a visit to the barbers to get a more fanciful hairstyle might be a good start.