I wore a clip-on manbun for a week

The top knot epitomises the Bristol stereotype. I don’t have a pair of gap yah Indian pyjama bottoms and I haven’t tried ket, so I figured this could be my one chance of social salvation so I delved into my overdraft and ordered my very own clip on man-bun.

I wanted to experience the fad before it slipped into the grave along with the top button, shag-bands and heelies. But this isn’t something you can just dip your toe into or throw on and become cool like a Fjallraven Kanken Backpack. The bun takes dedication.

But who has the time to endure the months of pre-knot grotesqueness? It normally gets to a strange amalgamation of Cian Twomey’s gf and my brief pubescent My Chemical Romance phase before I decide to give up on the long greasy fringe and make do with the standard short back and sides look.

The appendage comes with choice of clip or band, but I found the clip wasn’t quite durable enough for the winter gusts. I noticed some builders loading stuff onto a skip en route to my lecture and squared my shoulders and stuck on a poker face in an attempt to compensate for my slightly effeminate accessory. The wind blew it off into the rubble as I walked by. They watched, embarrassed on my behalf as I shook the dust off my mun. No words were exchanged.

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On the stairs, my eyes met with those of my library girlfriend as she was going out for a crafty fag. We shared a coquettish smile, a brief moment, as we passed. I remembered what my mate had told me about how fit Jared Leto looked with a man bun, so I popped it back on, hoping to achieve the same look. I caught her eyes once again as she walked onto the silent study floor. I gave a nonchalant half smile, expecting reciprocation and got a look in return which can only be described as abject horror.

A couple of people I vaguely knew, who on any other day would have given the nod of acknowledgement, looked away. I got fleeting awkward looks.  Some tried to catch a glimpse, looked away, then British-ly forced an awkward smile. For some, that didn’t suffice: they needed clarification their eyes weren’t deceiving them, so they snuck glances whenever they could. Their eyes would peep over the top of books they were pretending to read. I felt like I can only imagine an amputee must feel.

Popular comments included:

“It looks like a dead rat” (it bears no resemblance to a dead rat).

“Christ, it’s not even the same colour, it looks like a piece of grandma” (I’m still not quite sure what she meant by that).

The most popular observation I got was along the lines of: “That looks like one of those Jew hats.” So by wearing this, not only am I culturally appropriating hipsters and lumber-sexuals, I’m culturally appropriating Orthodox Jews, and that’s not cool.

If you want a man bun, it’s probably better you grow it yourself.

After a hard day of being a fucking don