WHAT exactly is the deal with religions and hair, I wonder.

Women who follow certain religious beliefs - including, but not limited to, the more extreme manifestations of Islam and Judaism - are expected to keep their hair covered in the presence of any adult men who are not members of their immediate family.

Orthodox Jewish women cover their own hair with a full wig (which, when you think about it, lessens the chance of them ever experiencing a bad hair day).

When I was a kid, raised by a Catholic father who stopped two rosary beads short of religious fanaticism, a papal decree forced all women to wear a hat to Mass; over time the rules were relaxed (possibly when the church hierarchy realised male churchgoers weren't swooning at the sight of uncovered female locks) and we downgraded to flimsy lace mantillas and then, eventually, to bare heads.

Oh, the horror.

Conversely, men were expressly forbidden to wear a hat in church, except the blokes in the frocks up on the altar who can still choose from a broad selection of fancy headgear worthy of a Melbourne Cup lunch; bishops wear mitres and monsignors wear a jaunty box-shaped lid called a biretta, often topped with a merry little pompom.

The nuns of my school years, who still wore the Darth Vader outfit and glided around silently as though they had roller skates under their habits, were forbidden to show any hair; I still remember the shock when their dress code was relaxed in the late 60s and they were permitted to display the odd curl.

Religious hair fetishism isn't restricted to women; Sikh men are forbidden to cut their manes or shave their beards. According to their religious beliefs, shaving with a razor is as bad as incest (go figure), while devout followers of Krishna follow elaborate rules for how their crowning glory can be worn. Avid Buddhists often shave the lot, preferring the follicle-free look.

I can't, in all honesty, ever remember a man being driven to new heights of passion at the sight of my own frequently wayward tresses, except when I had heterosexual male hairdressers - and yes, they do exist - who often showed their delight at my coiffure (I strongly suspect that was because they knew how much cash I'd be coughing up after a cut and blowdry).

But, then again, in years gone by, it was perfectly acceptable in some cultures to display bare breasts while keeping the head covered, while in Victorian England the glimpse of a female ankle was considered to be so powerfully erotic they even designed furniture that hid the corresponding part in case men even thought about the real deal.

One thing is certain - it's a very hairy jungle out there.