As you might imagine, I provide lots of fashion advice to eagerly grateful women my age. One sage opinion I try to hammer home almost daily is this: don't cut your hair.
It heralds decline into psychological old age. I don't know if women still get "perms" nowadays, but these in particular must be avoided.
Already, I fear I'm straying out of my depth, but I blunder on regardless, commenting fearlessly on the haircut that left actress Anne Hathaway "inconsolable".
Anne committed the follicular atrocity in the name of her art, as she was playing yon bird in Les Misérables who sells her hair for money. "I was reduced to a mental patient level of crying," she reports.
I, too, have wept inconsolably after haircuts, particularly when I got my long tresses amputated and was left with a weird, multi-tiered wedding cake arrangement on my cranium. I worked in a large newspaper office at the time and, as I returned from the hair economist's, a ripple of applause spread from one end to the other, while I waddled red-faced down the aisle, periodically waving Fawlty-style fists at tittering colleagues.
Having a haircut is rarely wise, and women in particular should consider it only for noble reasons of art or financial gain.