That Britney Spears' desperate haircut consumed a fair portion of last weekend's 72-hour news cycle indicates that we are now officially in the end times. The haircut occurred on Feb. 16 in Tarzana, Calif. When the stylist expressed reluctance to do the pop star's bidding, Britney grabbed clippers and removed most of her hair herself. Clippings are being sold on eBay, but skeptical experts are asking what, short of DNA testing, will establish the authenticity of Spears' hair from that of some mere commoner who uses Pantene?

Over the long weekend, the national talk shows obsessed over one individual's haircut as if it were Iraq policy or international concern about the mental health of Russian President Vladimir Putin. Prominent psychoanalysts joined celebrity hounds to discuss - without a hint of smirking - just what her haircut signified, as the planet Earth tilted toward equinox, in the third orbit of the solar system, at a corner of the Milky Way, in this, one cosmos among billions, in a universe that may be just one of many. The Spears incident was so powerful that it temporarily knocked the Anna Nicole Smith saga off the front page - no mean feat. "Is it a cry for help?" the commentators asked. "Was it an act of defiance to the engines of celebrity that created her?" Or "Is it her first step in a rebirth that will pave the way for an artistic comeback and a happy life?" Nobody knows for sure.

Her buzz cut does not exist in a vacuum. Although I have discovered that the literature of haircuts is thin (and balding), I have nevertheless managed to sweep the following historical notes from the salon floor of history.

Another pop star (of more enduring charisma), Elvis Presley got a famous haircut on March 29, 1958, at Fort Chafee, Ark. To the consternation of millions, the King had been drafted into the United States Army. Because he was Elvis, however, inductee 53310761 was granted a 60-day deferment to enable him to finish filming "King Creole" in Hollywood. Footage of the "most famous Army induction haircut in history" was distributed worldwide, and it actually deepened (OK, widened) the Elvis phenomenon.

It turned out to be a haircut of momentous importance. Elvis was subsequently stationed in Bremerhaven, Germany. Whether his service in the Army hastened the end of the Cold War is debatable, but it is indisputable that in Germany, Elvis met an adoring 14-year-old American girl named Priscilla Beaulieu. After a protracted courtship characterized by … well, Elvis-like distractions and setbacks, Elvis and Priscilla were married in Las Vegas in 1967. This led to the birth of Lisa Marie Presley, who in 1994 married Michael Jackson, who later met Britney Spears. So you see how it is all really connected, after all.

President Clinton got a famous haircut on May 18, 1993, on the tarmac at Los Angeles International Airport. Tonsorial artist-to-the-stars Christophe performed the operation. The haircut took place sometime between 4:30 p.m., when Clinton boarded Air Force One, and 5:48, when it lifted off. It was soon reported that the presidential trim had delayed a number of flights to and from LAX. The talk shows went wild. And though the FAA later discredited the flight-delay story, permanent damage was done to the Clinton presidency.

By his critics, Clinton was accused of arrogance, frivolity and an unnecessarily ardent attraction to the pleasure grounds of Hollywood. This was at a time when rumors were spreading of marital disputes in the White House, and when Clinton was being linked to such celebrities as Sharon Stone and Eleanor Mondale. It is not clear what bothered people most - that the president had apparently held up the flights of regular folks for the sake of his vanity, or that the haircut cost a reported $300.

Our own Missouri River has a minor place in the history of haircuts. Henry Marie Brackenridge, accompanying Manuel Lisa's Missouri Fur Co. voyage up the Missouri River in 1811, reported that haircuts were an important rite of passage for first-time Missouri River boatmen. In his journal, Brackenridge wrote, "The river Platte is regarded by the navigators of the Missouri as a point of much importance, as the equinoctial line amongst mariners. All those who had not passed it before, were required to be shaved, unless they could compromise the matter by a treat. Much merriment was indulged on the occasion." Are you listening, Britney? Merriment.

There are at least three great haircuts in the history of literature.The most famous haircut of all time occurred while the Israelite hero Samson slept (Judges 16). The wicked Delilah, who was in cahoots with the Philistines, learned that Samson's invincibility was related to the fact that his hair never had been shorn. As the King James version put it, "And she made him sleep upon her knees; and she called for a man, and she caused him to shave off the seven locks of his head; and she began to afflict him, and his strength went from him." After that, things went from bad to worse for Samson and the Israelites.

Digression. Contrary to what the paintings and lithographs suggest, George Armstrong Custer did not gallop to his death on the Little Big Horn with his famous long blond hair billowing behind him. He had cropped his hair short before leaving Fort Abraham Lincoln on May 17, 1876. The man who was known to Indians by the sobriquets "Long Hair" and "Son of the Morning Star," may have died with his boots on, but his hair was uncharacteristically short at the time of his death on June 25, 1876.

Hmm. Samson plus haircut equals death. Custer plus haircut …

Alexander Pope's "Rape of the Lock" (1713) is regarded as one of the best mock-epics in the history of literature. Pope wrote it to soothe the temper of the family of aristocratic debutante Arabella Fermor, who was famous for her beautiful and abundant hair. Without seeking permission first, Lord Petre had snipped a lock of Miss Fermor's hair as an act of flirtation. Fermor was deeply offended by the violation of her person, and the incident was causing an uproar in London social circles. Pope wrote his "heroi-comical poem," to make light of "what dire offense from amorous causes springs, what mighty contests rise from trivial things." According to literary historians, Miss Fermor was not amused.

In O. Henry's famous short story, "The Gift of the Magi" (1906), Jim and Della each want to buy the other a coveted gift for Christmas. Jim, who prizes his pocket watch above all of his possessions, wants a watch fob. Della, who is immensely proud of her hair, wants a set of jewel-rimmed tortoise shell combs. Jim and Della are impoverished. They are deeply in love. Della sells her hair to a wig maker in order to have money enough to buy Jim his watch fob. Jim sells the watch so that he can buy Della the combs. Ironically, it turns out that their love is more important than stuff.

Finally, if I may descend from the sublime to the ridiculous and the insignificant, I confess that, when I was 35, I shaved my head to show solidarity with a friend who had joined the Marines. I thought he would be self-conscious because of his induction buzz cut. It turned out that Jim was not at all self-conscious. He was either indifferent to my gesture of solidarity, or perhaps even slightly miffed that I had diverted attention from his heroic enlistment. Alas. That was the same week that my former wife gave me spandex running tights and an earring for Christmas. (We lived in Boulder, Colo.). My Grandma Rhoda was with us on Christmas morning. When I opened the blue, yellow and red running tights, she raised her eyebrow. When I opened the earring, she could hold back no longer. "It's a good thing your Grandpa Dick did not live to see this!" she snapped.

Needless to say, I never got the piercing.

(Clay Jenkinson is the Theodore Roosevelt scholar-in-residence at Dickinson State University. He lives in Bismarck. Contact Jenkinson at Jeffysage@;aol.com.)