In my mind I see myself as a foppish English private school boy, skipping merrily along the riverbank on the way to rugger practice with my chums - thick, lustrous locks blowing in the wind and a long fringe dangling playfully over one eye.
The reality is somewhat different. I'm a 41 year-old Aussie house-husband desperately trying to hold on to some 1990s slacker ideology. My hair is grey and wiry with a receding hairline that gives a sort of silver-mohawk effect, like some sort of over-used toilet brush that's being sold at a garage sale.
It's not what you'd call a best-case scenario.
I'm lucky, however, because I was able to hang onto my hair long enough to trick a woman into loving me and eventually marrying me. Freed from the fear of having to appeal to the opposite sex, I can now happily let myself go to seed. I do feel sorry for the poor girl, though, because what she ended up with probably looked a whole lot better in the catalogue. Buyer beware!
There is the fear in the back of my mind that I might one day find myself single again. Going on a blind date with a woman now would be the stuff of nightmares and I think I would spend the whole date apologising for my lack of sex appeal as large clumps of hair drift down into my soup bowl. The date probably wouldn't even make it to the main course. Afterwards I would retreat to catacombs under the city where I would hide away from the prying eyes of strangers and the cruel unforgiving glare of the sunlight. At least here I would be some sort of urban myth and create an air of mystery!
For the past few years I have gone to the barber sporadically and in-between have tried to cultivate an Albert Einstein look. Because I'm such a cheapskate, I consider it value for money, but also I don't enjoy the look of nervousness from barbers who seem to be trying to hide an 'Oh my god - there's nothing I can do for this guy' look of terror on their faces.
If I'm honest, I think even my attempt to look like Einstein has been unsuccessful.
I think I look like this: