Normally I don't obsess over it. I lament that it prevents me from being photogenic -- that, and my perpetually shiny skin (unevenly pigmented), apparently awkward photo smile, and some other weird aspect of still photography that seems to strip me of my spirit in photographs -- but I figure I can distract people from it with my winning personality, a lot of eye makeup and lip gloss, and cute hair. Yes, of course I'm a big fan of the pony tail, but even when I wear my hair completely pulled back, there are still some sexy little strands framing my face. I can still balance my beak with bangs that are cute. Curse my need for cute hair!!!!
I have always envied those women with sweet little pixie faces, the centerpieces of which are their tiny, adorable, perfectly perky noses. They look awesome in their super short pixie haircuts. When I get mine cut today, I will probably look like an old woman with a big face who is too old or to incapable or too lazy to do her hair and so just gets rid of it. Unless I can make my eyes look really cool and so distract people from noticing.....
The hard part is that here in America, the land of the free, we are obsessed with hair. There is no true freedom!! We may think we are free to choose what style we choose to sport, but really we are all just slaves to the desperate need to have a style! Regardless of whether our hair is long, short, medium, nonexistent, blonde, brunette, red, salt and pepper, pink, blue, or rainbow bright, WE MUST CHOOSE A STYLE -- and that style thus defines us. We cannot choose to be style-less. People who are style-less become invisible - to store clerks, wait staff, the opposite sex..... And though my style has changed throughout the years - sometimes drastically! - I have never been so much as even tempted to sport the Sinead O'Connor look (speaking of which - have you seen her lately? What happened to that gorgeous, doe-eyed creature?!?).
When I was only fifteen (fourteen, maybe?) I started bleaching my hair. I tried Sun-In at first, but after that yielded insufficient results, I doused my head with three-quarters of a bottle of hydrogen peroxide (the results of which I still claimed to be from the miracle natural highlights product that was actually a major waste of money), and voila!! I returned to my childhood blonde. And there I remained, playing with various shades of blonde, until college when I began to really play around. DARK brown, strawberry blonde, ashy-grey crap blonde... At one point I burned off most of my hair with a perm and went short for the first time in my life (and not a cute short -- those are some pics that desperately need to be burned.) In my mid-twenties a hairstylist who was prepping me for a theatre role asked if I was married to my color, and when I agreed to go "darker brown" turned me jet blue-black (and chopped my bangs to about an inch above my eyes -- made up for the show, I resembled Betty Boop). For a month and a half I had to wear mascara -- ON MY EYEBROWS. And I've got some pretty darned dark eyebrows. When the color was finally stripped out, it left behind a vibrant copper-penny red that could not quite be covered even with a cool brunette shade, and thus my auburn phase was begun.
But today begins a much more poignantly significant phase: hair empowerment. My pixie shall be short-lived, as I will likely be losing my hair completely within the next three or four weeks, maybe sooner, but I thought this step would be empowering. Rather than clinging to hair I'm not particularly thrilled with at the moment anyway, I may as well take my head by the horns (yep - I know many of you suspected they were hiding in there) and start my hair transformation NOW. Despite my concern that I will not look my prettiest (there's that vanity rearing its ugly head), I think I just might look my best. Every time I see a woman with nearly non-existent hair, I am mesmerized by the aura of strength and confidence and power that she exudes. I am drawn to the beauty of her facial features, whether bold or delicate. I am awed by the pride in her carriage. I am envious of her.
Over the past decade or so, I have made significant progress in gaining confidence in the value of my beauty within, but I would be lying if I said that I did not still care about my beauty without. It has been a part of my identity throughout my life. And though I have many times lamented being noticed and admired strictly for my looks, I have never been comfortable with the idea of losing them completely. I guess now it's time to get comfortable.
The truly beautiful thing about this, though? I honestly do believe that in toughening my outer shell, the gleaming pearls I'm cultivating within shall greatly increase in size and value. And that is an investment worth making. After all, what do I want to teach my daughter
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