In the musty back room of the collectibles shop he owns here, stocked with a copy of the Declaration of Independence and Ernest Hemingway’s briefcase typewriter, John Reznikoff held up a gold case that contained his most prized possession.
Behind the glass, the curly black clumps looked like a worthless old Brillo pad. But Reznikoff, 48, said the US$500,000 piece de resistance was something far more precious: a strand of hair from Abraham Lincoln, taken from the US’ 16th president on his deathbed.
Reznikoff said the pieces of detritus stuck to the hair, which looked like egg bits found on a frying pan, is dried brain matter.
He has hair strands from numerous historical figures like George Washington, John F. Kennedy, Napoleon, Beethoven and Chopin. While he enthusiastically advertises his US$10 million annual business in stamps, autographs, and Americana in trade catalogs and newspapers, Reznikoff keeps a low profile when it comes to his beloved hair collection. He doesn’t advertise, sell to the public or buy clippings of living people.
“I’m concerned clients might not take me seriously if they see me selling a lock of Charles Dickens’ hair,” Reznikoff said.
What was once a gentleman’s hobby among a few dozen enthusiasts at the turn of the 20th century has evolved into a multimillion-dollar industry, complete with professional dealers and serious quacks. As hair collecting has endured to the modern day, it brings with it the air of august creepiness that surrounds any celebrity-chasing pastime, not to mention its own peculiar set of boundary-issue controversies.
Hair collecting took hold during the Victorian era, when notables were asked by their admirers for locks rather than their signatures. “More so than an autograph, it was a sign of affection,” said Harry Rubenstein, a curator at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History.
Today, thousands of small-time collectors jostle along with Sotheby’s and Christie’s for snippets of Marilyn Monroe’s curls (rare), Katharine Hepburn’s tresses (rarer) and Elvis Presley’s locks (rarest).
The demand has been insatiable, said Brian Marren, vice president for acquisitions at Mastro Auctions, whose company sells about US$100,000 in hair a year. “It’s a celebrity-driven culture,” Marren said, “so almost anything attached to a celebrity is sellable.”
In October, one collector paid US$119,500 for a tuft of hair from Che Guevara. Auction wars erupted around the same time for the hair of Babe Ruth (sold for US$38,000) and John Lennon (US$48,000).
Beyond the initial yuck factor, hair collecting can facilitate lurid prying into private affairs, as collectors use DNA taken from strands of hair to investigate the lives of celebrities past and present. Did Lincoln have syphilis? Was Beethoven hooked on prostitutes?
To solve such mysteries, star-struck fans and conspiracy-obsessed historians alike have visited Reznikoff’s company, University Archives, which occupies a renovated thread mill. Here they’ve found bits and pieces of Reznikoff’s follicular mementos.
There’s the framed photo of Elvis, after getting his famous GI haircut, accompanying a hunk of his hair glued onto blue suede. Another frame on the wall holds the portrait of Charles I (before he lost his head), juxtaposed with a few strands of hair taken from his tomb (after he was beheaded).
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