Sunday, April 12, 2009

I am NOT my hair

For a variety of reasons, I cut my hair super-short a few months back. A "pixie" was the hip term my hairdresser used. (And perhaps I've already given myself away. "Hairdresser"? does anyone use that term anymore? Or do "real" women visit "stylists" at "salons"?)

Now, when I had gone from long to medium length hair last year via the same professional, the reviews were stellar. I got so many compliments, I glowed with general good feeling. This time, however, the reviews were much less hearty. and I was okay with that. i mean, it's just hair. I might have freaked out when anything interfered with the long, long locks of my teens, but the time of crying over less than perfect hair has past. I want to look good as much as the next girl, but my entire self-worth is not coif-based. or at least I didn't think it was!

Growing in short hair is tough, especially thanks to others. I was arguably getting a little shaggy, but was reluctant to clean it up. The length was *just* finally getting to a point where it didn't stick straight up, Alfalfa-style, despite my best efforts. But after receiving not so subtle hints like a headshake with a frown and the (sincere) suggestion of a wig by "well-meaning" acquaintances (and I use the term extremely loosely), I relented and paid $60 to bring things back in line.

Once again, I was pleased with the results in the relation to their nature (i.e. if she could have cut hair back *onto* my head I would have been much happier but, seeing as she couldn't, I think she did a fine job). Until a cashier greeted me this morning as "sir". really? I mean, really?!? Nothing about my voice, statue, attire or anything else gave away to you that I am, in fact, a woman?

So let me make sure I have this right. Abundant locks=woman. Short hair=man. well that's just lovely. thank you for pigeon-holing me with your quaint little labels. now please excuse me, sportscenter is on.


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