The Long and Short of It
Keep one fact in conscious thought as you continue reading this post - I have dressed virtually the same for better than a decade.
[Actually most of my clothes are exactly the same, not look alikes or similar. Exactly the same. No, I'm not into 'vintage'. I'm preternaturally broke. In my world, clothes have to last. Remember, keep this fact in mind.]
Years ago I decided that I wanted to shave my head. More like Demi Moore in "G.I. Jane", than Sinead O'Connor in the 90s. I put it on my Bucket List. Shave head - Check. I'd always had short hair so the change wasn't all that drastic. To me. Low maintenance became no maintenance. I loved it. Among the general public, however, response was mixed. I got raves and my ass nearly kicked because I was suddenly even more "dyky" than before.
Truly response had always been mixed regarding me and my hair. A girl or woman with short hair means a variety of things in modern day America. Mostly, if you're not into make-up and high fashion, it means you're a lesbian (apparently being able to run faster than other sixth graders is also a dead giveaway). And in many circles, being a lesbian isn't the best thing ever. Of course, it takes more than short hair to become a lesbian but, for many, one invariably goes with the other. Plus a truckload of not-so-flattering stereotypes. Because of all this and more, I spent most of my life being overlooked at best and rebuffed with derisive comments and dirty looks at worst.
Then I accidentally started growing out my hair. "Donate Hair" was also on my Bucket List and after effortlessly making it through a couple of the early ugly stages, I decided it was now or never. That was three years ago. Three fucking years ago. And it's still not quite long enough to donate. I could list 1,000 things I hate about my hair and this whole growing out process, but I can sum it up rather easily with four words - HAIR IN MY FACE. I have spent more on shampoo and conditioner and hair ties (fucking hair ties) in the last three years than in the previous forty-two years combined. I can't wait to cut this shit off and check the box on my Bucket List.
The people in my life aren't exactly as happy about it as I am. "You're going to cut your hair?!? But it's so pretty!" "How short are you going to cut it?!?" Trust me, every comment and question has an exclamation point. Or two. When I say I'm more than likely going to start shaving it again, people are aghast. Add a couple more exclamation points. In their defense, many people in my life are new within the past three years. They didn't know me with short hair, much less a shaved head (Remember... Demi, not Sinead). To them, I have long hair (!!).
I have to admit that there are times that even though I hate my hair (HATE IT), I think about keeping it. People treat me different. Better different. These days I am seldom overlooked and the negative comments have all but disappeared. Moreover, I don't have to defend myself against ugly stereotypes. I may get categorized as a lesbian, but I'm now seen as femme, rather than bull dyke or butch. Regardless, by and large, the attention I get from men and women is uniquely positive, something I have never in my life experienced. Ever.
And yet, only one thing about me has changed - my hair. I don't wear hair bows or do it up all fancy. I'm sure as Hell not out there flaunting it and flinging it about. It's either pulled up into a ponytail or stuffed into a baseball cap. I didn't add makeup into the mix. And what did I tell you to remember? I dress exactly the same. Exactly. The. Same.
Oy.
So what are my choices? Keep the hair I hate and enjoy the warmth of people's affection? Or cut my hair and go back on defense?
Those who know me well will say I should do what I have always done. Own it. Stand in my truth. Shine my light. Blah, blah, blah. I spent my majority of my mid to late thirties and early forties doing all that. I have to say I'm tired of being the one responsible for those lessons. I'm tired of standing. I'm tired of shining my light. I'm tired of trying to wedge open minds with a witty turn of phrase and a crowbar. I'm tired of explaining the difference. I'm tired of being the difference.
My hair may have sucked the life out of me these past three years, but I've learned one valuable lesson - Life is easier if you just play along.
And I fucking hate that.
[Actually most of my clothes are exactly the same, not look alikes or similar. Exactly the same. No, I'm not into 'vintage'. I'm preternaturally broke. In my world, clothes have to last. Remember, keep this fact in mind.]
Years ago I decided that I wanted to shave my head. More like Demi Moore in "G.I. Jane", than Sinead O'Connor in the 90s. I put it on my Bucket List. Shave head - Check. I'd always had short hair so the change wasn't all that drastic. To me. Low maintenance became no maintenance. I loved it. Among the general public, however, response was mixed. I got raves and my ass nearly kicked because I was suddenly even more "dyky" than before.
Truly response had always been mixed regarding me and my hair. A girl or woman with short hair means a variety of things in modern day America. Mostly, if you're not into make-up and high fashion, it means you're a lesbian (apparently being able to run faster than other sixth graders is also a dead giveaway). And in many circles, being a lesbian isn't the best thing ever. Of course, it takes more than short hair to become a lesbian but, for many, one invariably goes with the other. Plus a truckload of not-so-flattering stereotypes. Because of all this and more, I spent most of my life being overlooked at best and rebuffed with derisive comments and dirty looks at worst.
Then I accidentally started growing out my hair. "Donate Hair" was also on my Bucket List and after effortlessly making it through a couple of the early ugly stages, I decided it was now or never. That was three years ago. Three fucking years ago. And it's still not quite long enough to donate. I could list 1,000 things I hate about my hair and this whole growing out process, but I can sum it up rather easily with four words - HAIR IN MY FACE. I have spent more on shampoo and conditioner and hair ties (fucking hair ties) in the last three years than in the previous forty-two years combined. I can't wait to cut this shit off and check the box on my Bucket List.
The people in my life aren't exactly as happy about it as I am. "You're going to cut your hair?!? But it's so pretty!" "How short are you going to cut it?!?" Trust me, every comment and question has an exclamation point. Or two. When I say I'm more than likely going to start shaving it again, people are aghast. Add a couple more exclamation points. In their defense, many people in my life are new within the past three years. They didn't know me with short hair, much less a shaved head (Remember... Demi, not Sinead). To them, I have long hair (!!).
I have to admit that there are times that even though I hate my hair (HATE IT), I think about keeping it. People treat me different. Better different. These days I am seldom overlooked and the negative comments have all but disappeared. Moreover, I don't have to defend myself against ugly stereotypes. I may get categorized as a lesbian, but I'm now seen as femme, rather than bull dyke or butch. Regardless, by and large, the attention I get from men and women is uniquely positive, something I have never in my life experienced. Ever.
And yet, only one thing about me has changed - my hair. I don't wear hair bows or do it up all fancy. I'm sure as Hell not out there flaunting it and flinging it about. It's either pulled up into a ponytail or stuffed into a baseball cap. I didn't add makeup into the mix. And what did I tell you to remember? I dress exactly the same. Exactly. The. Same.
Oy.
So what are my choices? Keep the hair I hate and enjoy the warmth of people's affection? Or cut my hair and go back on defense?
Those who know me well will say I should do what I have always done. Own it. Stand in my truth. Shine my light. Blah, blah, blah. I spent my majority of my mid to late thirties and early forties doing all that. I have to say I'm tired of being the one responsible for those lessons. I'm tired of standing. I'm tired of shining my light. I'm tired of trying to wedge open minds with a witty turn of phrase and a crowbar. I'm tired of explaining the difference. I'm tired of being the difference.
My hair may have sucked the life out of me these past three years, but I've learned one valuable lesson - Life is easier if you just play along.
And I fucking hate that.
Hi Stacee,
ReplyDeleteHow are you?
Love/hate this post! I truly understand the long/short hair thing, I've been waffling back and forth for years.
What I also get (but don't like) is you complaining about the insignificant folks who take you for what their limited grey matter allows. Other than maybe your parents and grandparents, has anyone ever told you that life will be easy and pleasant? that you will be successful? that everyone will accept you for who you are... even if that is off the beaten track? If so, please disregard this message.
You, my dear, are one of the strongest, most true to one's self, people I know. Just keep being your own wonderful self. I love you for your soul, which is truly beautiful. Short hair or long (and by the way, I like it short). You are most beautiful when you are yourself... and it is much easier to be that person.
It is hard to consistently walk in your own moccasins (grass is greener, I want to have 'that' life, etc.), but if life was easy, life would be so infinitely boring.
I don't believe for a moment that you could stand yourself being a person who took the regular path, just because people are more affectionate with you. Really? "Life is easier if you just play along"... really? Hard statement to hear from you.
None the less, I love you and always will, no matter what path you take.
Hugs,
Deb