I Haven't Lost My Mind
No, really.
Honestly.
Just because my hair is now an eighth of an inch long does not mean I've had a nervous breakdown. It doesn't mean that I'm turning into Britney Spears. <shudder> I have not become a lesbian or a radical extremist and my husband has not shaved my head in an effort to control me. (In point of fact, I shaved it myself twice without his help. He was only there to help the third time and that was only to make sure I didn't look like I had mange. Thanks, hon!)
This was not a spur-of-the-moment decision for me. I've had a pixie cut since last July. I've been getting it cut shorter and shorter since then. I had my hairdresser cut it with the clippers the first time I went to a buzz cut. I wasn't sure how short I should go and I trust her, so I let her do it. I only lost 1-2 inches of hair that time. So it's not like I just one day hacked off a foot and a half of hair.
While I understand (and appreciate!) the concern some people have for my well-being, I feel that concern is misplaced. I am well aware that cutting your hair off can be a form of self-mutilation and a desperate cry for help. That is simply not the case here.
The truth is that this kind of started about 5 years ago. I'll start a few years before that to give you the back story. I used to have long hair, down to mid-back when I was in high school. Shortly after I graduated I had it cut to shoulder length. I liked it for about three weeks. And then I hated it. I spent the next few years cutting it as seldom as I dared in order to grow it back. My hair kind of became my security blanket, though I didn't know it at the time. It was the one thing I held onto through multiple broken hearts and a very frustrating time in my life.
It wasn't until after I married my husband Derek, that I began to want to cut it shorter. I'd had the same long hair ever since I met him and I never did much with it. It was really quite boring. So I decided to cut it shorter. And I liked it. Derek wasn't fond of the bangs, but that was his baggage from someone he used to know who had low self-esteem and used her bangs to hide behind. But he preferred it shorter, too. I suddenly was getting compliments all the time. It was something I wasn't used to, but I very much enjoyed the attention.
And after that I kept letting my stylist cut it shorter and shorter until it reached jaw length. And then I got one haircut that I didn't like. I went back and got it fixed the next day. It was short. Not a pixie cut, but shorter than jaw length. And though I liked it, it made me want to try a pixie cut. I was sooo excited to get that pixie cut for my 30th birthday! And I looooooved it. Even my dad, who hates it when I cut my hair shorter, said it suited me. Everyone I spoke to told me, "It's so you!" (Which I privately think is code for "I don't like it, but you sure seem to!". But that's besides the point because I loved it. And I am probably just projecting my insecurities.)
So over five years, my hair has gotten shorter and shorter. And with one pointed exception, I loved it more the shorter it got. The pixie cuts even got shorter and shorter. And somewhere in the last year, I decided that since I keep liking it shorter and shorter, I was going to have to figure out where the line is where I don't like it anymore. So I decided to go all the way. See that picture up there? I took that after I buzzed it with a #2 guard. I used a #1 guard last night, so it's even shorter now. And I have yet to get to the point where I actually dislike how it looks.
But after that first buzz cut, you would not believe the feedback I've been getting. Friends have asked me if I'm turning into Britney Spears or losing my mind. Family members have flat out asked me why I would do such a thing. My grandfather jokingly asked me how the Chemo was coming. (Note: I wish I could say that I chose to shave my head for some noble reason, like a friend or family member lost all their hair, or I'm raising money for cancer research. Those are excellent and noble reasons to shave your head. My reasons are entirely selfish. I just wanted to know what it was like.)
I don't even really mind the comments, or the strange looks I've gotten. Actually, shaving my head has taught me a valuable lesson about myself. I've spent my entire life trying to fit in. I lived in fear that someone (or everyone) would see how weird I was and know what a terrible job I'm doing trying to be normal. (Truth be known, I now think the joke's on me and that everyone's always known.) By shaving my head, I finally did something that's very not-normal. It's out there and it's very visible. Many people don't approve. And
I.
Don't.
Care!
I like it. I actually really like it. It's easy to take care of. It's cool in the summer. I love the way it feels against the palm of my hand. I love that I can't get bedhead or hathead and that I can drive down the highway with the window open and my hair doesn't whip me in the face. I love that I can give a massage and my hair is completely and utterly out of my way, instead of sticking to my face when I'm trying to concentrate. It stays out of my face when I go swimming and I can be out of the pool and dressed in 10 minutes. I can go for a run without it sticking to the back of my neck. (As of last night, it is a little cold, though. When the weather isn't warm, I have to wear a toque. I wore one to bed last night.)
When I think of a bald woman, I see someone who's strong, like a woman in the military. I see courage, like someone who is fighting cancer. I see someone beautiful who chooses to redefine themselves. Like Evey Hammond in "V for Vendetta". (It doesn't hurt that Natalie Portman is absolutely gorgeous as a bald woman.) That's what the words "bald woman" mean to me.
Being bald has changed my perception of myself. I am redefining my own beauty. My femininity does not come from my hair, or even from my breasts or my uterus. Likewise with my beauty. Those things come from within, from the essence of my being. And somehow by stripping myself of the feminine vanity that is my hair, I have made myself feel both more feminine, and more essentially and inately beautiful than I have ever been in my life. It has inspired me to be more me. Because regardless of what anyone else thinks, I am beautiful and intelligent and talented and loving and very, very strange, and I should walk down the street with my head held high and
own all of those things. If I can be accepting of myself, it really doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.
It is very freeing to strip myself of this excess. I will be shaving my head bald, with a razor, soon. Probably only once. I fully expect to hate the way it looks. But I can wear hats, and the hair will grow back. It should take maybe a couple of weeks for my hair to reach the length it is now. But I can't come this far and not go all the way. I need to see where this takes me.
Maybe this fall I'll grow it back. It does get rather cold here in the winter. I think I could use the extra insulation. But maybe I won't. I kind of like it as it is right now. I do believe I may become openly eccentric. I think it's time I became Odd and Proud. I can be bald and still be a good person, a good mom. Who knows what else I can do? I think I'm gonna find out. <evil snicker>
(Side note: a huge thank-you to my husband Derek who has taken my experiment in image and self-esteem completely in stride. I don't think he loves my hair the same way I do, but he doesn't hate it either. Or at least he's smart enough to keep it to himself if he does.)
Love,
-Nan
