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He hasn't had long hair for a while - not since, maybe 1902, when he'd woken to find Dru had unmanned him in his sleep.
That's what Darla said anyway (bitch!), sneering and smirking while Dru clutched his shorn ponytail in her fist and giggled like a loon (not that she could giggle any other way).
Looking back, he's sure Darla put Dru up to it. She'd hated his ragamuffin look. Ladies don't have scruffy servants.
He'd thought of growing his hair again, but he wasn't Angelus (as Darla never tired of reminding him)
and wouldn't want to be (ponce!). Why copy him?
Who cared if he let a woman dictate his look? It didn't (doesn't) make him weak.
He frowns at the Slayer-friendly brown faux-leather jacket and tan chinos. Not to mention he's wearing brogues (sodding brogues, for fuckssake!)
Maybe - just maybe- it's getting to be a habit.