Justin Bieber's haircut: my brush with DNA destiny

There was something magical about Justin Bieber's old hairstyle. Equal parts Peter Beale, Velma Dinkley and Bobby Charlton, it almost single-handedly defined an entire generation. When people thought of Justin Bieber, they immediately thought of his hair. That doesn't happen very often. Perhaps only Jennifer Aniston and Phil Oakey from The Human League can truly understand what this feels like.

But then, last month, Bieber decided to cut his hair. It was not a popular decision by any means. An estimated 80,000 fans — equivalent to almost the entire population of Jersey — immediately stopped following Bieber on Twitter. It marked the end of a dream.

But Bieber remained a philanthropist at heart, which is why he chose to donate a lock of his shorn hair to Ellen DeGeneres on her talkshow last week. Ellen promptly listed the hair on eBay to raise money for abused farmyard animals. And that's when I decided to buy it.

Actually, that's not strictly true. Initially I didn't want to buy Justin Bieber's hair at all. The Guardian made me do it. To begin with I wasn't very keen. But the longer I thought about it, the more appealing the prospect became. I wouldn't just be buying a clump of teenage hair – I'd be buying a business opportunity. If I won I could quite easily turn a profit by turning them into, for example, incredibly prestigious hairplugs.

Or, better yet, I could extract Justin's DNA from the hair, combine it with some frog blood and open a Jurassic Park-style themepark full of marauding Biebersaurs. Or I could follow the lead of Lex Luthor in Superman IV and hold the world to ransom with an evil, nuclear-powered Justin Bieber clone that I created by firing the hair into the sun. This wasn't just a silly stunt any more. This was my destiny.

Who cares what the hair would cost? It would be a small price to pay for such a timeless piece of music memorabilia – the equivalent of Elvis Presley's jumpsuit or John Lennon's glasses or, you know, the dungarees that the bloke from Brother Beyond used to wear. Or something.

So, finally, at 4.24pm yesterday, with the fearless spirit of adventure stinging my nostrils, I placed a bid of $12,700. And that's when I had a nervous breakdown.

What the hell was I thinking? $12,700? For some hair? That's almost £8,000! I didn't have that sort of money to hurl about, especially for some hair. I prayed that someone, anyone, would outbid me. Was I ever really going to invent the Biebersaur? That was just a stupid pipe dream. I would of course be helping the abused farmyard animals, but you can't pay your rent by cheering up a pig, can you?

My agony was shortlived. Nine minutes later, at 4.35pm, I was outbid. What followed was an explosion of conflicting emotions – relief and disappointment, joy and bereavement. I wasn't stupid enough to bid again, and that meant facing up to some uncomfortable truths. Goodbye hair. Goodbye fearless spirit of adventure. Goodbye evil, nuclear-powered Justin Bieber clone. But hello common sense. And hello money. And hello knowledge that some idiot would now have to spend at least $12,800 just to own a few pieces of hair. I'd learnt my lesson. Never again would I bid on anything belonging to Justin Bieber. Unless he auctioned off his milk teeth, obviously. Who wouldn't want those?

Justin Bieber's hair auction runs out at 6pm today, UK time. If you are incredibly rich and profoundly stupid, you can buy it here. As I type, it's currently an extremely reasonable $15,000.

ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7tbTEoKyaqpSerq96wqikaKWlqLake8yuqqKbkqG8qHuRaWhqZ52Wv3B8kWihrquknrtursiemZ6qXZ2uqr7CrqtmnZKWxm6uyJ0%3D