spite cut
I wrote the following essay in 2006 after shaving my head.
Too much and not enough. Isn’t that how it always seems to start and end with me? My hair is all over the place. I looked in the mirror at work today and I startled myself. Actually, to be precise, my hurricane of hair startled me. Seriously, where did it all come from? I was taken aback when I saw its tawny whirls bending around my head, looking slightly more electrified than I had anticipated. Yet, at the same time, I can’t stop being frustrated with how slowly my hair is growing. I just want a tiny, sprouty pony-tail. I wish now, as I have for years, that when I wanted long hair I could simply pump my arm up and down and it would magically grow, just like the doll my sister used to have. I have attempted this on many more occasions than someone who knows better should do, but it has been to no avail. My hair is still only about half an inch longer than last month.
While I think my hair hasn’t grown much, other people seem to be much more aware of its increasing length. Usually, their comments are very friendly in tone, but they never seem to comment only upon my current style; rather, it is always in contrast with my previously shorter ‘do: “Your hair has gotten so much longer!” “Wow! You have hair now.” My favorite, though, are the even more indirectly insulting ones of my once close-cropped cut, “I’m so glad you’re growing your hair again.” “I liked your short hair, don’t get me wrong, but this is so much more you.” “This new style is much more, well, versatile.” (In this case, of course, versatile means acceptable.)
I have learned a good deal from others about who I “am” as my hair has inched (millimetered?) its way out of my scalp. I have realized that my hair defined me for others in ways far beyond what I could ever have imagined. Had I known, I would have cut it off years ago. Of course, then, my short hair-do would only define me differently, not necessarily less rigidly. The other day I had the impulse to shave my head again out of spite of the people making those comments. If you know me, you know that I have a fondness for spite. It almost always plays out much more actively in my thoughts than in my actions, but I have an affection for it nonetheless. In this vein, today, I wanted to I cut my hair. It has grown a bit and I is definitely on the verge of “short hair” rather than a “buzz cut,” and although I personally want to grow it at this point (the shaved head has been fun but I’m ready for a change), I very seriously contemplated heading down to Sid’s one more time to shave it all back down for the sole purpose of spiting those want it to grow, who want the “real” me to grow back, for those who want the softer, more comfortable, more predictable me to soothe them with my long, feminine locks and non-threatening appearance.
I didn’t shave my head again because I don’t really want to. But I didn’t keep it “long” for you, either.
