The secret diary of Tom Meltzer, age 22

My new haircut makes me look like the sort of man who talks about the SAS. I made the mistake of going to a new hairdresser's (or barber's, if you're a little more masculine and live in the past). It's not that the new hairdresser isn't good at her job – as haircuts for Andy McNab readers go, this is probably as good as it gets. It's just that she clearly wasn't fluent in the vague, non-committal gurgling noises I make when someone asks me how I want my hair.

I begin with the obvious: "A bit shorter," as if before this there was the option of her cutting it longer. She looks unenlightened, so I elaborate. "I sort of want it a bit thinner and a bit smarter." Her expression becomes even blanker. "I had it cut two months ago so maybe just take off two months of um, you know, hair?" I hold out some of my hair as a helpful illustration. She looks at it, gives up and tells me to sit down. "So you just want it short, basically?" she says. I have run out of hair-related words, so I nod. At the back of my head the electric razor begins to buzz ominously.

Twenty minutes later I have got what I asked for. I look like an IT consultant who owns his own paintball gun. People who see me on the street will think "Now there's a man who's well respected on the internet." The usual post-haircut paranoia is amplified by the fact that this time I'm right – I do look like an idiot. When a group of girls start laughing on the train I assume one of them has done an impression of my head.

I pop into a charity shop, looking for a hat. They only have one: purple, with a blue ribbon. In desperation, I try it on. I look like someone's eccentric grandmother. It's a close call, but I decide to go without.

When I arrive back home my flatmate offers an obligatory "Nice haircut". I make a face. "It's smart," he says, "You look like you could wear a suit." "Yes," I say. "But only to go to a war crimes tribunal." His girlfriend is more honest. She takes one look at me, wrinkles her nose and says "No." She is, I realise, speaking for women everywhere.