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After a long long lockdown, and it seems years of isolation, Tony Blair, the former British prime minister, clambered out of Middle-earth this week to discuss Scottish independence on primetime television. And it was truly terrifying to behold.
Accessorised with a deep tan, and long white hair which gently brushed the trim of his shirt collar, his newly relaxed appearance caused a storm on social media. “They call him Gandallumâ€, said one Tweeter of his resemblance to both the greying wizard of Tolkien legend and the Stoor Hobbit and guardian of the ring.
He was also likened to Paul Weller, Killer Bob, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, David Icke and Vigo the Carpathian. I especially enjoyed the Twitter observation that he recalled “a semi-retired engineer who made significant contributions to the development of the original Apple Macintosh†although I thought he looked more like a dodgy self-help guru. Mostly, however, the reaction was an “Ew!â€
Hopefully, this merciless drubbing of a man who has let his hair down during lockdown should be a sufficient prompt to any gentleman leaning towards the Branson that this is absolutely not the way to go. I see why they might be tempted. Solitude, the closure of all barbers and the cessation of normal human interaction has encouraged many men to shake off the short-back-and-sides of corporate oppression. They’re now sporting hair they last enjoyed as a student and this vibrant expression of their independence has helped rekindle the vigour of their youth.
Except for one small problem. Long hair on an older man just screams: “Women, steer clear of me.†I’m sorry lads, the locks have got to go.
Blair’s display of follicular lassitude should have been enough to persuade all men that tendrils of greying whorls are neither hip nor socially acceptable unless, of course, you are Brad Pitt. In the same week that Blair was derided for his hairstyle, the 57-year-old actor presented the Korean actress Yuh-Jung Youn with an Oscar with his hair scraped into a man bun. Unlike Blair, Pitt’s coiffure was largely celebrated, it was deemed in keeping with his laconic brand of cool. And yes, it’s a cruel world that treats men’s looks so inconsistently, but to quote my former house mistress: that’s just the way the cookie melts.
It was especially unfortunate that Blair’s appearance should have coincided with a week in which the Tories have been engulfed in a tsunami of sleaze. Instead of marvelling at Boris Johnson’s apoplectic unravelling in parliament over questions over just who paid for the £800 rolls of wallpaper he favours in his residence, I was instead bewitched by the creepy visage of the former Labour leader and his mane of wizard hair. Boris at least had the foresight to get himself a haircut.
Even without the hair, there’s something captivating about seeing a former public servant, once so exposed and everyday familiar, getting on with normal life. I find few things more compelling than seeing the men and women who once prowled the corridors of power doing what we might consider civilian things. It’s like catching sight of Santa Claus on holiday.
Time is usually generous to politicians who have walked away or been voted out of public life. Having watched them become marked by the cut-throat ambition, egoism and pressures that scarred the years they were in office, we tend to look at them more fondly when we find them more relaxed. Barack Obama, shrunken and grey by the end of his presidency, was recast as a style icon as soon as he stepped away from the White House, his movie star charisma souped up with leather jackets and aviator shades.
Obama was already wildly popular. But plenty of far more controversial figures have been invested with avuncular charm: George W Bush, once reviled for his hawkish military policies and struggle with the English language, won the hearts of millions when he was seen wrestling with a poncho at the 2017 inauguration while sitting in the rain. His affectionate exchanges with Michelle Obama also burnished his reputation, and his most recent reinvention as the painter of portraits of fallen soldiers and, as of this week, a book of US immigrants, has endeared him to us even more. Recast as the cuddly embodiment of compassionate conservatism, the war on terror which marred his presidency has become easier to ignore. Likewise Michael Portillo, once a hardline Thatcherite and uber Tory who soared in our affection when he started wearing suits in sorbet shades and became a railway bore.
Leaving politics softens public servants. A spot of sunshine, a gentle book tour, the chance to explore more idiosyncratic wardrobe choices, all these allow them to become real human beings rather than the pol-bots they have to be to do their jobs. Who doesn’t adore old jazz-loving shambles and former Tory grandee Ken Clarke? Even Gerry Adams in his shawl-collared cardigans has managed to convince some of his old foes he’s a grandfatherly kind of guy.
But, as Blair makes clear, it’s important not to get too comfortable with your persona. Long hair is just a no. No former prime minister should draw comparisons to Peter Stringfellow. But I guess that on the plus side fewer people are describing him as a “war criminal†any more.
Email Jo at jo.ellison@ft.com
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