Essay: LONGER HAIR IS NOT NECESSARILY HIPPIE

THE hair of the male human animal grows more slowly than crab grass—about ½ in. to 1 in. a month. But it never stops growing this side of the grave. Were it not for the tyranny of fashion, which insistently summons men to the barber, they might all conform to the Book of Leviticus, which commands that "Ye shall not round the corners of your heads, neither shalt thou mar the corners of thy beard." In these shaggy times, which can produce a Van Cliburn, an Allan Ginsberg and a Joe Namath, not to mention the Beatles, the Monkees, the Rolling Stones and the entire male population of Haight-Ashbury, Leviticus' 2,500-year-old injunction seems astonishingly up to date.

The Beatles may have triggered the trend; the hippies may be making a scissorless, combless and soapless travesty of it. But long hair has outgrown its parameters, traditionally described by the rebelliousness of youth and the self-consciousness of show business. It has become grey, middleaged, ubiquitous and eminently respectable, a coast-to-coast phenomenon that has infiltrated even the U.S. Army, that last bastion of the butch. Last March at Fort Ord, Calif., by command of the commanding officer, the compulsory 30-second scalp job for all recruits was succeeded by a permissive repertory of six hair styles.

These days, it seems, nobody wants to look like Hank Bauer except Hank Bauer. Certainly not Richard Nixon: despite a hereditary sparseness in front, his coiffure now rolls luxuriantly down the neck and trespasses on the ears. And certainly, certainly not Bobby Kennedy, who was once a neat trim but who lately resembles a sheep dog—or maybe a sheep. Presumably long hair is now a political asset, although Washington's most notorious tousle, Everett Dirksen, declines comment as "below the pale." Dirksen is at least known to have visited his barber before the 1952 Republican Convention, at which he appeared in a hairdo that would have thawed a drill sergeant's heart.

Now He's a Stylist

The barber is changing to accommodate the trend. Until 1957 his professional bible was called the Barber's Journal. But that year its name was changed to the Barber's Journal & Men's Hairstylist, and seven years later the name changed again. It is now the Men's Hairstylist & Barber's Journal—a title eloquently testifying to the ascendancy of a less ruthless tonsorial breed.

It is still possible, of course, to get an ordinary oldfangled hair cropping at a decent price. But in increasing numbers, men are demanding something more. The new hair stylist gives it to them, at prices ranging from $6 to $100. The new shops do not even look like the old ones; they look like beauty parlors. Figuratively, and in some cases literally, they are. Manhattan's Hair Design Associates, on St. Mark's Place, caters to both men and women, although once the clients have been swaddled up to their necks in hair cloths it is sometimes difficult to tell. These lush and costly emporiums attract a surprisingly conservative trade. Roger, a hair stylist on East 58th Street in New York City, estimates that 75% of his customers are doctors, lawyers and businessmen.