I used to marvel how in the Navy my shipmates were meticulous about their personal grooming and appearance, even though there were no women available to us, (except for hookers who didn’t care what we looked like). The whole idea of uniforms and restrictions on facial hair were designed deliberately to eliminate all vestiges of individuality. Sailors bought expensive tailored uniforms, went to great lengths to accentuate those few areas where modification was allowed (like how we shaped our hats and tied our neckerchiefs) and spent inordinate amount of time fussing over their haircuts, even though they couldn’t wait to switch to civvies when they hit the beach, or grow their hair long once they were away from service. They kept their hair as long as regulations would allow, although a Navy haircut in the 60s was impossible to conceal.

I’ve often wondered if a sudden societal shift in fashion doesn’t actually reveal a subconscious realization of this, and even a refusal to no longer submit to it. The long hair and outlandish clothing on young men of the 60s wasn’t necessarily an attempt to “look different”. I believe it was a declaration of “I don’t care how I look”. That certainly explains the opposition it received from straight, conventional, conformist America. Long hair on men has been the rule throughout history. General Custer had long hair, and he was no sissy. The founders had long hair, or wore wigs if they were bald. The Beatle haircut was so threatening to Middle America because it was a sign their children no longer felt a need to wear a uniform, military or business suit. But the older generation could only explain it to themselves as just another kind of uniform, because they were indoctrinated with the idea of clothing marking ideological leanings, social class and economic status. Duds make the dude.

As you get older, the need to advertise your social status and breeding condition lessens. I now wear only what practicality, modesty and the law requires, and what the Florida climate suggests–shorts, t-shirt, flip-flops. I avoid social venues where dress matters, and dread those where it is unavoidable (like weddings, funerals, and jury duty).

I’ve spent the last few months wandering around in public without any front teeth while my implants were being fitted, even though I had some temporary false teeth provided to me for cosmetic purposes. I never wore them. I simply don’t care what other people think of me any more. I know who I am.

There are some advantages to growing old.