Daily Freeman (Kingston, NY)

The perm is making a comeback, but not to this head

- Mitch Albom writes for the Detroit Free Press. His column is distribute­d by Tribune Content Agency.

When it comes to hair, some men have a sense of adventure. I am not one of them. While others shave the sides, gather it in ponytails, or dye it blue, I am boring. Predictabl­e. I have had the same haircut since college. You can compare photos of me today with those from my 20s and say,

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say he goes to the same hairstylis­t.”

Uh, actually, I do.

I bring this up only because of recent news articles citing the return of “the perm” for men. Suffice it to say, I will not be getting one. I still have PTSD from the first time around.

Like many boys who grew up in the ’60s, hair has been an oversized focus for me. We began that decade with buzz cuts as tight as beard stubble. We ended it with hair down to our shoulders.

In between, we tried pretty much everything. The high pompadour that Elvis sported, the moptops made popular by the Beatles. The bangs in your eyes. The “parted in the middle.” The “long, straight, curly, fuzzy, snaggy, shaggy, ratsy, matsy” versions that were celebrated in the musical “Hair.”

I mean, we made a musical about hair! What does that tell you?

Still, those styles were all about how short or long you cut it. The perm? That was something else. Popular in the ’70s, the perm was a process in which you sat in a chair for a long time while they used chemicals, rods and heat, until eventually your hair went from nice and straight to stupidly curly.

Mike Brady, the dad in “The Brady Bunch,” had a perm. Need I say more?

How did this start back up again?

I remember when some of my high school friends got perms. It was bizarre. One day they had straight hair that followed the laws of gravity, the next day there was a feathery nest around their ears. It was often high and rounded. They looked like hairy ice cream cones.

Sometimes, the permed hair puffed out so far, you couldn’t fit a helmet over it. Other times the curls were so tight, I expected the guys to be wincing.

I suppose there were a few handsome men whose looks didn’t suffer from the perm. David Bowie tried one. George Harrison did, too. But even to them, the style looked phony. And most guys I knew just looked stupid.

So why on earth are they bringing the perm back? Well, near as I can tell, it’s become huge in Korea, which somehow now sets the tone for pop culture. The “Korean Perm” is a real thing, defined by one website as “carefree, naturalloo­king waves that look so effortless­ly chic.”

And while it’s true, this new perm has come a long way from those wispy mops of the ’70s, still, in the famous words of Hall and Oates, I can’t go for that.

No can do.

But then, as I said, I am follicly boring. The truth is, back in college, when my male peers began pulling their bangs back to see if their hairlines were receding, I made a deal with the future. Let me keep my hair, and I’ll never do anything stupid with it, like get a mohawk.

So far, the future has kept its end of the bargain.

I have tried to do the same. If it’s not broke …

This meant I passed up many fashionabl­e waves. When men started slicking their hair back Gordon Gecko-style, I passed. When rock bands like Poison and Aerosmith teased their locks to neatly horizontal lengths, I stayed flat.

I never frosted my tips. Never went blond or purple. Never had a fade. Never did the undercut. A mullet? No thanks. Not even when all the Red Wings were wearing them. And a ponytail? Even a fashion-ignoramus like me could tell that was a bad idea.

Which reminds me of conversati­ons I had with my father years ago. He, too, now that I think of it, wore the same hairstyle his whole life, if you can call it a “style.” He washed his hair, combed it straight back, and sprayed it neatly in place, behind the ears, above the collar line. I would often say to him, “Dad, why don’t you try something new?”

“Nope,” he’d say, reading his newspaper.

“But you could blow dry it.” “Nope.”

“Grow it longer.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

He’d lower the page, and give a slightly annoyed look.

“Because I don’t need to,” he’d say.

I’m going with that.

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