It’s only when I’m halfway through cutting my own hair that I realise I may have made a huge mistake.
With lockdown fever setting in, my hair has got so long I’m forced to use a bandana to stop it getting in my eyes. It needs a trim.
So what do the experts say? Celeb stylist Nicky Clarke told The Sun: “If you’re going to do it yourself, or get a partner to, do not use kitchen scissors. For men, less is more - if you’re using electric clippers, go a length longer than you usually would. You can always take more off, but you can’t put it on again.”
Both great tips. Both, I ignore.
I use a £20 pair of clippers I’ve bought from Argos a few days before. I’ve diligently applied the clipper guard, working my way down the grades from 12mm to six.
Before the trim
Then disaster strikes. It’s a sunny Saturday, I’m working in front of a sitting room mirror carried outside for the occasion.
The sun is glancing off a chunk of hair that juts out of the side of my head, just above my ear. In an effort to tackle it I manage instead to cut to the scalp. There’s a little hair left after my misadventure, but not much and I’m now doing a passing impression of a Medieval monk’s tonsure.
It is at this point, with a lopsided barnet staring back at me in the mirror, that a housemate tells me she used to work in a barbers as a teenager.
Does she want to have a go, I ask. After all – I have nothing left to lose.
Despite protesting about the quality of the scissors, which are a pair of green and grey blades that wouldn’t look amiss in a primary school classroom, she does a decent job.
“There’s nothing I can do about that,” she says, staring down at the bald patch above my ear.
Reporter Tom Seaward after the trim Picture: DAVE COX
After this, things begin to escalate. I post about my haircut on Twitter, the social media tool of choice for loud-mouthed trolls and young reporters with too much time on their hands.
I’m asked if I’ll dye it. Yes, I say, any colour you want in exchange for a £50 donation to Great Western Hospital charity Brighter Futures's coronavirus appeal.
I say it in expectation that the donation will not be made. It is. I’m sent a note confirming it.
Pink or grey is the choice. Having never dyed my hair before I go for pink. By the time I have to go back into a crown court press bench I’m sure it’ll have washed out.
I dye it stood over my kitchen sink. The bleaching kit goes on first – although I’m forced to apply the thick white paste with a plastic fork as the kit I’ve bought from Boots is plastic-free and apparently fork free as a consequence.
The final pink-ginger hue Picture: DAVE COX
That done, and looking like a 1990s boyband idol, I daub on the pink dye. It looks like a sloppy paint and claims to be a lurid fuchsia. The first time I do it, it doesn’t seem to work. So I have another go and end up with a day-glow ginger bob.
Even with hairdressing salons shut for the foreseeable future, I’m not sure I’d give cutting my own hair another go.
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