Is it possible to have an identity complex a year before turning 30? After changing my hair two weeks ago, I decided to wear high socks with shorts today (I need new pants, plus the weather is nice, okay?). Excited about my throw back to ’90s sock fashion, I asked Lindsey what she thought. “You look like a five year-old,” she proclaimed. Maybe so, but I’m tired of anklet socks. Besides, it’s kind of fun to be different, and who do I need to impress? (I’m married.)

After seven long years, I have finally retired spiky (aka disheveled) hair, some three to four years since it went out of style. In recent years, I would periodically rock the faux hawk for fun, but my decade mainstay was usually spiky — until now.

Before the spike, it was an outdated Caesar cut. Before that it was a naturally curly shag and sometimes Afro cut while in high school. Before that it was a bowl cut in middle school. And before that it was a clean-cut part in elementary school — no funny business.

I’m not sure what to call my new do, but I’ve started “swirling” it from my non-parted side to my parted side, thereby disguising any part whatsoever. I guess you could technically call it a “Reverse Cowlick.” Some hipsters I see when traveling to San Francisco or New York display a variation of this cut, but much more delicately than me.

Whatever it is, I’m happy to be spike free. It was time.

In speaking with a 14 year-old boy at church a few weeks back, this was the reply given when I asked how he was doing:

My mom grounded me because I came home past my curfew last week. It sucks — she took away my PS2 and all my girl jeans.

The grounding and PS2 parts I can relate to. I was a boy not long ago (and still am to an extent). But the confiscated girl jeans as punishment? I just don’t get it, even if that’s what budding hipsters are wearing now.

Blake, I’d like you to meet Behind The Times. Behind The Times, say hello to Blake.