I’m serious USC, stop calling it a man bun

As more and more men decide to grow out their hair, the world responds with increasing jealousy at the majestic manes that proudly parade our cool campus, USC.  But ask yourself – why you feel the need to comment on my long hair?

Congratulations, you noticed that I haven’t cut my hair in a significantly longer span of time than the average male. I thank you for rewarding my patience and desire to understand myself with your snide remarks.

But wait. Are you suggesting that my hair being this way is indicative of an incessant need to adopt popular trends?

I hope not because I find the decision for a man to wear their hair short is orders of magnitude more popular. Then it must be that you think I have a compulsive desire to walk against the grain.

Okay, maybe. I think compulsive is a bit strong, but I am not convinced there is really anything wrong with going against the grain.  Let’s contextualize this.

Am I a guy? Sure, I have no issues with that. I’ll be a guy. I have my facial hair (well-kempt). I was born with the male genitalia. I enjoy it. So, I’m just another guy from the States – Indiana specifically. And I go to school at USC in Los Angeles where a fair amount of men wear their hair long.

That’s all well and good, but that’s not really me. That’s just the me that I let the rest of the world see. If I projected my innermost thoughts and feelings at all times for all the world to see I would be so vulnerable that the corresponding anxiety would place me somewhere beyond unproductive. That’s the case for us all.

We adopt a specific performance for our interaction with the strange, wide world. I often begin by taking mental note of potential outfits before I rise from bed and begin my morning routine. All productive members of society have some ritual before they begin their daily performance.

My costume, if you will, requires me to take care of and wear my hair as it remains; absent the frequent, moderately expensive, professional hair cut services. This not only allows for me to engage with you all with the love and compassion I strive to spread, but it also allows me to maintain a distinct identity for my own sake.

So, let’s have a deeper look at the Jeff to whom this sake belongs. My parents didn’t grow up in Indiana. In fact they grew up right here in Southern California. Additional fact: they both went to USC. That’s cool. Going back further in time my paternal grandparents were husband and wife from Chicago and the Comanche Reservation in Oklahoma respectively. My maternal grandparents were husband and wife from Fresno and American Samoa respectively.

I take a good deal of pride in my lineage. I find it represents a nice multi-culturality upon which the US has thrived. Whenever I study Native American history or Samoan tradition I feel a strong connection with a past that I have lost. Like I said I’m from Indiana. If you’ve ever been to Indiana you know that it’s a far cry from the beautiful pacific islands.

It’s not entirely dissimilar to the plains upon which the Comanche hunted on horseback, but between the soybean fields and beige strip malls there’s no denying it lacks the luster and majesty that the indigenous peoples of North America once knew it to be.

So, colonialism won. My relatives in American Samoa are probably Mormon and my relatives in the Comanche Nation may very well be alcoholics. And each day when I look at myself in the mirror I see a man that for all intents and purposes is a reflection of white-America. That’s not all bad. Indeed it’s worth mentioning that I am equally proud of my English, Irish, Welsh heritage. It’s all wonderful.

But if I continue to live in accordance with your American rules and their strict parameters of identity, then I cannot do my history justice.

It is righteous for the Samoan man to grow out his hair. So too does the Comanche man understand his body. I made this hair. I continually diverted portions of my energy input to build this magnificent mane. Every day when the sun heats my head and the breeze massages my follicles I feel closer to my past and therefore I continue to form and expound upon my productive identity.

So don’t call it a man bun. Well, hell, call it what you will. I won’t stop you. I don’t know you and I’m probably just showering for too long/brushing my hair to bother with you. But do be aware of others and their feelings.

Be compassionate. Save your snide comments for when you arrive at some original thought. Walk against the grain. I promise you won’t get (hair) cut.