Bun to death

Silly humans with their full heads of hair. I feel sorry for them in a way.

Just look at all of the goofy hairstyles that have evolved over the centuries. Revolutionary War-era colonials used to powder their locks the ashy white color of decade-old chalk. Women in the 1960s were fond of those giant beehive hairdos, the kind that could cast shadows across the length of a football field in a crisp autumn dusk. Don’t even get me started on the mullet. This short-in-the-front, long-in-the-back look favored by teenage males in the 1980s was so horrendously ugly it should have been legally banned to spare people the humiliation of publically losing their lunch.

Now we’ve got the man-bun. While not as off-putting as the mullet, it’s still a curious fashion choice, inspiring the simple question: Why?

This look is becoming increasingly prevalent among long-haired dudes, and considering who’s sporting ’em these days, “dude” is definitely the right word. You achieve a man-bun by taking said long hair and tying it into a bun in the back -- not a ponytail, as has been customary now for decades, but a flippin’ bun, like they’re Mrs. Butterworth or something.

To be clear, my objection isn’t about the gender of the wearer. I’m of the firm belief that nobody should be shackled by conventional gender expectations, and that includes fashion choices. At issue here is the fact that, by definition, anyone sporting a man-bun has to be a man, and men -- let’s face it -- are gross.

Obviously that’s a generalization which doesn’t hold true in all cases. Surely there are some non-gross men out there. Somewhere. On an island, maybe, or cavorting around a jungle, bathing in streams with leopards and flossing their teeth with birch bark. The law of averages suggests they exist, and they’ll make for fascinating scientific observation when they’re finally discovered.

The rest of us are gross. We use the bathroom and forget to wash our hands. We skip showers on days when we handle mangy animals. And we don’t tend to our hair with any great aplomb. Buns work on women because women -- again, a generalization -- are neater. They know the right shampoos and conditioners, they tend to their split ends. A woman-bun is an exercise in order and competence. A man-bun is an exercise in ignoring the fact that the bun would probably hold its shape without the pin.

Which is why people scrunch their face if they even hear the word “man-bun.” It just has an icky connotation, like “moist,” or “Pauly Shore.”

The style has a longer history than you might expect. Samurais used to wear their hair in buns, and the bun look was even sported by Buddha himself, which I guess goes well with the whole robe-and-sandals vibe. The Beatles’ own George Harrison rocked one when he was going through his spirituality phase, and that goes a long way toward lending the style some credibility; ever low-key (for a Beatle), Harrison always projected this vibe of silent wisdom, so perhaps he knew something about the bun I don’t. Maybe he discovered that arranging one’s hair like that could turn the locks into an antenna of sorts, allowing us to receive otherworldly transmissions from various muses and spectral something-or-others. Or maybe he just did a boatload of acid one day and decided it’d be a good idea. Seems more likely.

On the opposite end of the spectrum from Buddha and George Harrison is Patriots quarterback Tom Brady. He often gets cited as being a good-lookin’ fella, and I can sort of see it -- I mean, if you’re into dimpled chins and high cheekbones and eyes you could practically swim in. (Sorry, I just had a moment there.) But not too long ago he was photographed walking down the street with his hair bunned in the back, and it made him look outright sketchy. The long-ish hair below the bun draped thinly over the nape of his neck, and atop his head, frayed strands corkscrewed outward in wiry discord, making him look more like a frazzled cafeteria worker than a millionaire athlete. All he needed were clear plastic gloves and a blue tray filled with chicken nuggets.

To be fair, almost all hairstyles and fashion choices age poorly. Like mullets and beehives, they make sense at the time, only to be regarded with horrified embarrassment as the years pass. I’ve been shaving my head bare for 10 or 11 years now, and I keep telling myself that I’m never going back; when grown, my hair is limper than a fistful of spaghetti strands in a steady rain, and so here, finally, is a socially acceptable style that I can adopt. But it may not always be that way. In 30 years the shaved look may be as scorned as the man-bun, with naturally bald men such as myself sporting a new style -- growing out just the temples and braiding them like Pippi Longstocking, perhaps. Seems crazy now, but in 2046 it could be all the rage.

In considering all that, I briefly entertained the possibility that I’m coming down too hard on the man-bun. I’m a fuddy-duddy, I reckoned. Not hip to the zeitgeist, or whatever.

But no. Like the pompadour before it, the man-bun will slowly come to be regarded as an exercise in poor judgement. Long hair? Fine. A ponytail? All right. Just promise me one thing: Unless you’re slicing at a dragon with a giant sword, let the bun die a slow, quiet death. It’ll be better for all of us, and besides, there are plenty of other things you can do with your hair.

In fact, step a little closer. I’ve got a razor and some shaving cream with your name on it.