For nearly twenty years, I practiced law in the state and federal courts of California, representing some of the largest, most conservative corporations in the world before judges and juries not-quite-of-their-peers. My coif was of-the-order, even if I was not Order of the Coif.
My last full-on hair cut was on 22 December 2004, a week before I retired. Since then, I’ve had the ends trimmed a couple times; but essentially, I have hippie-hair. Or girl-hair, if you will.
Most people agree: it’s not a great look for me. My mother laments, “You used to be such a cute kid!” But the long hair is, in some ironically conventional way, a nod to quirkiness. It also serves-up a somewhat light-hearted decoy –- and somewhat belligerent challenge –- for the world to underestimate me, a dynamic I have always tactically relished.
Last month, while I was in the Bay Area, I stopped on Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue for an hour to up the ante.
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