As you have probably seen by now, I had Finch chop most of my hair off.
I’m so damn conflicted.
I love the edgy. I love showing off the camera tattoo behind my ear. I love the purple that is already fading into a beautiful silver after one wash. I love the under shave.
I spent from Feb of 2018 to June of 2020 set in a “long hair is better” mindset and working to that end. Thyroid be damned, thin hair be damned. And in 24 hours, from Friday to Saturday, I decided it was all going. Finch pulled me from the buzz cut ledge to the wide mohawk ledge. A little style, a little personality.
It feels like that two years of hair obsession was an utter waste of time.
Why do we do this to ourselves as women? Why do I even care? I have stopped waxing my eyebrows– a single shave in the mornings down the middle is enough, to avoid the uni. I’ve mostly given up on makeup….. lip gloss is enough and anything else breaks me out and I’ve made peace with that fact.
Why am I so wrapped up in my hair? Why does it have anything to do at all with femininity? I have all the female parts. That’s what defines femininity. Why do I usually love my hair short for like 3 days and then wish for something different, something that takes multiple years of careful maintenance and many many months of self-conscious in-between to achieve? Why do I lose that confidence in the cut after three days?
Part of it is a weight issue. Which, if I am truthful with myself, is a lack of activity issue. When I was 50 pounds lighter, I loved my pixie cut. I remember being 27 and being sure I would never have anything other than a pixie cut ever again. And being at peace with that fact
Part of it is a geography thing. I came of five years in the urban in my 20’s, where buzz cuts or whatever variety of short was no big thing on women. Out here, I am surrounded by long hair everywhere out in public, on all ages.
My Nannie would approve. That observation is important to me. She didn’t like long hair on women after a certain age. She mostly put me in that category by the time I was 20— I remember I had long hair when I was 21-22 and Nannie offered to take me for a haircut. She probably wouldn’t find the undercut particularly appealing, but she’d be all for the short hair. And there was never any question of her femininity. But then, she had a standing appointment at the beauty shop every Friday because she refused to wash her hair at home. So. That’s a different kind of high maintenance.
I want to be in the androgynous “I don’t care” camp. I want to be cognizant of the fact that my thyroid is wonk and I am 40 years old and I do not need to try to achieve some 20-something ideal that I didn’t find ideal in my 20’s even.
Middle age crisis is here, but it’s not so much about the idea of aging or anything that comes with it. I’m good with being a little old lady sooner than later. It’s more about frustration about societal ideals which I refuse to box myself into. It’s about having regret no matter whatever I do. And regretting that fact– it’s a thing I am working on.
I need to work some Steve Ross back into my life with some regularity. Life is better with high impact yoga.
Notice the self-absorption. I talk about myself as a coping technique because the world is making me crazy. Wear a mask, people. We are still in a pandemic. And, for the people who still need to hear it– black lives matter.