To Man Bun, To Wo-man Bun, or To No Bun?
A solid fortnight past, some girlfriends and I tripped down some pavement to a local theater renovated to house music, laughs, shows of this and that, and much to my surprise a series of man buns. On this night, clad in inappropriate layers for the brisk air, we waited amidst these buns for the deep and musky notes of David Ramirez (and yes, he is easily described as the perfect glass of vino for the ears; and yes, he rocked a man bun).
Somewhere in between Ramirez sauntering off-stage and The Lone Bellow setting up shop, a fellow momma noted the man bun directly in front of us, and asked if we fancied such a fashion. As I’ve thought before, I found it extremely odd that the man bun is even a thing and even moreso that it is considered a hipster thing.
Aye, I’m late to the man bun wagon, but it seems necessary to add to the conversation that some do not see this as a trendy hairstyle. It simply is not a new trend for me. I find this baffling as I do most things deemed hipster-ish. (Example: at my wedding reception, a piano rendition of a U2 song played, and one of Husband’s groomsmen followed me ’round saying that I was “such a hipster” as a result. I’m still baffled at how songs chosen by a DJ make me a hipster. But maybe I am a hipster. Aye, are hipsters aware that they are hipsters? I digress.)
Without grave offense, methinks the hipster + man bun labels sprouted from men (or shall I say man-boys? You know, the boys that are ready to be men but have yet to page through their bruised copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?) that have grown their mane wild with the intention of looking a certain way in order to appeal to a certain demographic. And here they stand, long mane secured in line with their thick brows + throbbing temples.
Securing a bun for the sole sake of fashion/to appease the multitudes seems such an injustice to my memory of working men pushing their hair back while toiling away on various projects. These men from my youth that frequented hair ties, ponytails, and buns did it for the sake of being too damn busy to bother with their gorgeous locks. In fact, a decade ago my brother-in-law grew his black curls long, and pictures show it tied back at the nape while he sat on a quad at university. His partner talks fondly of braiding his curls during those years.
I wish we could go back to these kind of men. Ones that sported buns because they were too busy holding a lover in their arms or kicking a soccer ball about the yard with tots in tow. Not because they require both hands free to navigate their electronic devices, plugged into every social media page alive and kicking. Not because a bun is/was the quintessential sex magnet of a certain generation. Not because others donned a bun, complete with plaid rompers, facial hair, thick glasses, loose suspenders and some concept of not bridging certain topics unless someone else deemed it trendy or (gasp) un-trendy.
Alas, I too am part of the man bun binge. Because I love seeing a man with long hair waving free. Because I now find myself scouring social media to promote my blog–much to my chagrin–and trying to keep up with these trends I rant on in order to carve out my own successes. Still, I hope we can get back to caring less about what state our hairs find themselves and more about the activities, what we find ourselves immersed in, that call for such busy-bee hairstyles as the bun.
Along this train, I will caboose with a current photograph of myself (#WIDN), for I am so busy freelancing and fine-tuning crafts for my wee one today that I shan’t be bothered with primping my hair follicles. (Admittedly, my garb reminds me of the best of times: a vintage maternity top from preggy Lace days, and a skirt from my single-hopping days–both of which I cannot part with.)
Before you quickly hop off this post, leave a comment in defense of the man bun, the wo-man bun, or the no bun. Pray tell which you prefer, if any at all.
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