Long term readers of Behooving Moving know how concerned we are here with our hair. I refer you to our manifesto of the many sucked mango, as evidence of an ongoing engagement with this issue. Cycling, we know, tolerates but a limited range of nice hairdos.
After 9 weeks abroad, often cycling with neither a hat or a helmet, and almost two weeks lodging amidst the cool cats in New York’s meat packing district, I have decided to wear my hair from now on in a French Quiff. The renaissance of cycling naturally arrives at the quiff, as the renaissance in Italy naturally arrived at the pilaster. Ask Alberti: nothing solves the problem of applying a columnar treatment to a palazzo so well as the flat, yet articulated pilaster, be that of the Ionic, Doric, Corinthian, Tuscan or Composite order. Ask us here at Behooving Moving, and we will tell you nothing solves the problem of windswept hair, a receding hairline, the need to look more like Morrissey, and the difficulty we have attracting attention out there in the bike lane, now it has filled up, than the French Quiff, be it high, low, undercut, gelled or au naturale. At once practical, pointing in the direction nature would point hair for cyclists, and a natural intoxicant for women of breeding age, this style does take some beating.
Still need convincing? Please, just look at: hipster trends; how the members of Kraftwerk began wearing their hair slightly longer in front in 1983, the year they happen to have released Tour de France; and of course, Elvis. QED and no further witnesses.
Perhaps with a little advice from the more insightful Behooving reader, I might throw together a few things from my wardrobe, to get some looks going here. Lord knows, I’ll be spending so much on product now, that I really cannot be having ill-considered outfits lessening the impact of my quiff, when next I hit the Newcastle bike transit scene.