X Factor: It’s time! To face! Some ridiculous HAIRCUTS!!!

X Factor: It’s time! To face! Some ridiculous HAIRCUTS!!!

Unless you live under a rock, work unforgiving shifts or forgot what day it was, you probably watched The X Factor last night (relive it here). And if you’re anything like me, you noticed an alarming amount of what can only be described as downright ridiculous haircuts sprouting from the heads of the male wannabes.

Hair in pop music is, like, really important and stuff. Imagine your favourite boyband, but bald. Just doesn’t work, does it? Imagine going to pick your Michael Buble CD off of your Ikea CD rack, and he’s got a judge’s wig on. Weird, right? Hair matters in music, is what I’m saying. Also, Michael Buble is not a judge and therefore has no right to that wig, and someone should take it off him right now.

Back in the day, ten years ago, when The X Factor started and I relied on babysitting a small angry child for my main income (the two are linked, actually, because I watched Tabby try to win The X Factor whilst babysitting said brat) people didn’t understand hair. Nowadays, well, actually, it seems that there’s still a hell of a lot of bonce-based confusion when it comes to your average X Factor hopeful.

The series opener (sit tight! It’s here ‘til Christmas!) gifted us such a plethora of funny follicular fripperies that I could barely see straight by the end of it. It started with Luke, a happy-go-lucky sort who hadn’t washed his locks in “about nine months”, giving him the look of a shihtzu, albeit one who has come to your new wave theme party as Robert Smith. He’s a specialist interest, appealing to the people who exist in the small overlap between sustainable quinoa and One Direction. A hippy Harry Styles. A zany Zayn Malik.

They could be sisters

 

By way of Tom, a boy whose hair looks as if it has merely been placed atop his cranium for a second so that his hands are free to rummage for keys, we came to Fil. That’s Phil with an F. I’m not sure why, either, but sometimes bad things happen and you have to move on. Fil’s hair was frankly brilliant in its mind-bending appeal. It was a baffling hybrid of Steven Tyler, Rachel from Friends and Ozzy Osbourne. The judges were moved, too: “oh, wow!” said Gary, whilst Nicole queried “is that considered…a mullet?” At this point, I shouted “NO!” at the screen, because any fool knows that a mullet is short at the front, long at the back, rather than just gloriously feathered and fluffed all round, like a prom date in the 80s. God, Nicole! Stop talking about balls so much, and learn some haircut terminology, why don’t’cha?

The men continued to wow us with their barnet barminess, offering up Andrew and his frankly smelly-looking dredlocks, which mana ged to distract me from both his horrifying shorts and the fact that he sang a Busted song. What’s less relevant these days, I wondered: Busted or mid-90s surfer dude chic? He was closely followed by a young man called Alex, whose hair resembled a birds’ nest formed entirely of golden candyfloss, which only served to accentuate the sheer weirdness of the fact that he’d chosen to sing opera.

Let’s not forget the ladies, who gave a strong showing with many an ill-advised ombre. It seems that 2012’s ‘gift’ to hair is yet to die, so we were treated to many shots of girls with crispy, frazzled, orange ends to their otherwise quite nice hair. They probably all washed it more recently than last year, though, which is nice.

Forget the sob stories and the ‘shock twist’ when a person who isn’t conventionally attractive turns out to have, gasp!, a good voice. I’m interested in the hair, here. This isn’t a singing competition, last night’s show made that abundantly clear. It’s all about hair. The more ridiculously dreadful, the better. I’m planning on auditioning next year; someone pass me the backcombing brush…

Little things:

- A whole audition show passed with zero occurrences of Adele. Nary a “fee’ maaaah luuuuurve” or a “ROLLININTHEDEEEEEEEEEEEP” or even a “Skyyyyyfahhhhhhhh!” I can only assume, therefore, that next week is Adele week. There was a bit of Emeli Sande, which I suppose is to be expected these days.

- It’s always interesting to see Louis’ eyes grow dim and dead when he’s faced with a legitimately good act. Why? Because he knows there’s no chance in hell he’ll be mentoring them, that’s why. Have fun with the Overs, Louis!

- They made a big deal of the return to the audition room, but it’s less bleak than it used to be. Back in the horrible old days it was a grim room that wouldn’t look out of place in your office building. Now, though, it’s g ot a high ceiling and actual windows and carpet. It’s pleasant. How disappointing.