One of the great joys of writing is that you rarely have to put on a suit.¹ There is no office dress code.² And since you are essentially a hermit,³ you can do all sorts of foolish things you might otherwise never do. Like grow a mohawk. It has gone the way of the dodo now, but for my non-local readers⁴ , it looked like this:

Sad, I know. And yet, it was totally a blast. It was amazing the amount of animosity this haircut generated in people I didn’t even know.⁵

Among the things that happened to me while bemohawked that had not happened before in my life:

1. I was asked for identification at my bank. Not for a withdrawal (where they always ask), but in order to be allowed to deposit money in my own account.

2. The most pleasant and jovial of store clerks, shopkeepers and cashiers routinely put on a scowl and begrudgingly accepted my filthy money in routine transactions.⁶

3. Followed by store security and given the twice-over by the po-po when walking around.⁷

As a little social experiment, it was very interesting to watch complete strangers get worked up over my hair. If you can get away with it yourself for a couple of months, I highly recommend it!

1. Or often, pants.
2. Or often, office.
3. Seen only by poor, beleaguered research librarians, a.k.a. the Patron Saints of Writers.
4. Some of whom expressed skepticism at this. Fie on you, nonbelievers!
5. People who know me, of course, merely sighed, felt sorry for my wife, wondered what was next on my “regressing to middle school” agenda, and tried not to stand too close to me in public–lest onlookers think we were friends.
6. Not every customer-service-type, but many–including ones with whom I have had only pleasant interactions with, both pre- and post-silly hairstyle.
7. And not the “look at that pathetic goofball trying to recapture his childhood” type twice-over, but the “I think you’re up to no good and I’d beat you with my nightstick on general principle if it weren’t for the damn Constitution and civil rights laws.” Former hippies, current skate punks–you know what I’m talking about, right?