Let me say first of all that I love everything about Thorin’s look. That blue coat with the big pimpin’ fur collar. The boots and those leather arm guards. The jewelry. The big shiny sword.
But what I love most of all is that hair. That awesome mane of flowing hair, complete with a becoming widow’s peak. And those little braids that I find so fetching and imagine plaiting and unplaiting. As Thorin ages, the silver streaks appear, making him all the more distinguished. Yes, I am fascinated by that hair. I want to play with it, brush it, wash it, stroke it, wind it around my finger. That hair is sexy, sensuous.
Thorin could star in a haircare commercial, methinks.
When I was younger, hair played an important part in my life, because I had so bloody much of it. As a young child, I had to be careful when I sat down or I would actually sit on the ends of it, which did my neck no good, I assure you (Mama cut it a bit shorter after that). My hair was not only long, it was very thick. I wore it up in ponytails, in those loose Marcia Brady pigtails or in a pair of braids that were always meticulously plaited by my dear mom on those early mornings before school.
Me and my tresses, age 5 or 6.
My hair was work for her; we had no shower at the time, only a tub. And so every Saturday I would stretch out on the kitchen counter and Mama would lather, rinse and repeat and end with a cream rinse to make it soft and silky.
Sometimes she rolled my hair on those fat pink sponge rollers and I slept–or tried to sleep with those hard plastic frames digging into my skull–in them.
The next morning I had Mary Pickford curls for church, and the preacher would always give one a playful tug.
People were fascinated with my hair, I discovered. Kids on the bus used to bicker over which of them would get to brush my hair for me. And I loved having it brushed. It was a lovely experience, soothing and, although I did not know the word at the time, sensual.
During this year away from work I’ve let my hair grow. Oh, no fears it will get down to my waist again. As the saying goes around here, that would be “too much sugar for a dime.” But it is just past my shoulders now. Althought it’s thinned out a bit with age, there is still a lot of it. This summer I have had to resort to ponytails and various hair accessories to get it off my neck.
I find myself wrapping strands of the ponytail around my finger. I enjoy the feel of it against my bare skin when I undress and I let my hair loose to cascade down. I think of Thorin’s hair. And I sigh and smile.
No doubt Richard is glad to be free of that mane. It had to be hot and uncomfortable at times and tend to get in the way during some of the action sequences. Sometimes he had to resort to a ponytail of his own while on breaks. But boy, does Thorin’s mane ever look good. I can’t wait to see it in all its glory on the big screen. Think of the opportunities for hair acting!
P.S. I really like that beard, too. But I have never personally possessed one of those.