Though it shames me greatly, I must admit I told a slight lie when I first came back to life. When Melisandre asked me what I saw after I died, I said “Nothing.” For the most part that’s true. After death I existed in a state of nothingness, blackness, a lack of consciousness. Maybe that’s because the world of the living wasn’t finished with me just yet. Either way I did see one thing in the blankness after my brothers stabbed me: Man buns.

Man Bun Screenshot 01

Honestly, I look fantastic.

Actually, to say I ‘saw’ man buns is incorrect. As soon as I died I felt, or…I understood man buns in a way that I never had before. I’ve always kept my hair long. In Winterfell it was so that I could sulk behind it without anyone noticing. Then when I came to The Wall I kept it long because it warmed the back of my neck — keeping watching so many nights, I would take whatever extra warmth I could get. Also long hair had become kind of my thing, you know? So, long hair it was for Lord Snow.

But flowing locks do have their downsides – it gets terribly matted, swings in my eyes during battle and the lack of product at Castle Black is really problematic. But I always thought buns were for ladies. It seemed like Sansa or Arya might wear. Then, when I died, I knew the truth.


First that my brothers of the Night’s Watch had betrayed me and I never should have trusted that little shit Olly. That was the primary truth I realized. But secondarily, I realized that a low, tight man bun could solve a lot of my problems. I’d get to keep my hair but during battle or sex (a thing I plan to do a LOT now that I’m free of my vows) it would be out of my face. It also lends a styled but not fussy polish to my overall look which, let’s be honest, needed some evolving anyway.

In the terrifying night that is a lack of consciousness, I believe the Mother and the Warrior combined forces to bring to me the stylistic and practical truth that is man buns. Or perhaps it was Melisandre’s Lord of Light who imparted the universal truth of man buns unto me. Whomsoever it was, I thank them all.

Now it’s off to find a female comedic bard in her late 20s with whom I can test out my post-death wang. Preferably near-sighted and brunette. I’m over redheads.

Images via HBO

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