Yes, yes, the rumours are true. I have long hair. And I’m growing it out, Jesus length or beyond. Mic drop.

So what, really? Well, what one does with one’s hair (or lack thereof) is such an interesting, personal, primal choice. I’m sure the first generations of humans were untangling theirs with dinosaur bone-combs, and potentially kicked out of their clan for their braids hanging the wrong way.

90% of the reason for my choice comes from Steven Pressfield’s Gates of Fire. He writes of the Spartan 300 at the Battle of Thermopylae, one of the greatest historical fictions I have read in my life, and some of the most attractive descriptions of the badassery of shoulder-length men’s hair, sometimes braided.

Am I frequently mistaken for a woman? Yes. Can longer hair be annoying, cumbersome, and a hindrance? Sometimes. But does it help me point me towards the warrior direction, at the very least the aesthetic by which I hope to be guided? Damn right.