よい毛 (Good Hair)
One of the great things about living in Japan was that I could walk around with my hair all kinds of fucked up, and nobody would know. In fact, I'd get compliments on my fucked up hair, usually to the tune of WOOOOOW and COOOOOL! Ah, those were the days.
Eventually, though, I had to learn how to cut my own hair. Why? Because I was getting tired of looking like a handsome hobo...plus I started teaching, and the people at my job assumed I was Muslim because my beard was getting kind of out of control. Jeez. Maybe I was just trying to look less like a high schooler and more like a surly mountain dweller.
Could I rock uneven mutton chops in the US and not be laughed out of DC by every Black person in the city? Definitely not.
Now that I'm back in DC, where over half the city is Black, I've got to keep my hair looking on point. So I went down the street and got my first professional haircut in years. Now I'm looking good and ready to catch all the panties the old ladies will be throwing at me as I walk down the street. And nobody will be able to tell that I'm suffering from male pattern baldness.