Of all the things I truly loathe about culture right now, none stands out quite as much as Justin Bieber’s hair. It’s that horrific wave of twee that crashes just above the eyebrows, followed by a nonsensical counter-swirl on the other side – creating, in me, truly a weather system of hate.
It’s long enough to be ever-so-slightly rock and/or roll, but coiffed and subdued into radio-friendly submission. His hair lies to you. It promises an intensity that it will never deliver. It is focus-group tested, all interesting edges sawed off, and yet still manages to be so awful as to stop traffic.
The original haircut was really only done correctly by four people, and one of them did it the best:
Of course, with all this kvetching about Justin Motherscratchin’ Bieber, only one thing could happen: I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and realized I’d morphed into the enemy.