Hair’s The Thing…
When I was a sophomore in high school, I told my hairdresser I wanted my hair to look like Rachel’s.
She either didn’t know who Rachel was or didn’t know what she was doing (I suspect both may have been true), because the haircut this woman gave me looked nothing like this:
And everything like this:
Oh, yes. I rocked this hairstyle long before Kate did. (Dear high school friends, you are laughing right now. Please refrain from digging up old pictures of me with this ‘do and sending them to me, because if you do, I might have to post them).
It was a disaster. I was a fifteen-year-old girl living in a town where “different” meant shopping somewhere other than the Gap (me) or having parents who weren’t Republicans (also me). This haircut went beyond different. This haircut would be my social demise.
If I let it.
Here’s the thing about my fifteen-year-old self: she was smart. Smart enough to know that if she acknowledged that her haircut was horrendous, she would become The Girl With The Horrendous Haircut. If, however, she acted as though this monstrosity was exactly the haircut she wanted, she would remain the same person she’d always been: That Lauren. As in: That Lauren, she always does things her own way. Or: That Lauren, you never know what she’ll do next.
So I pretended to love it, comb-over bang and all. I became, as husband puts it, A Short Hair Girl.
Why am I bringing this up now? Because a month ago I cut my hair. And while it’s an adorable, trendy, cute little haircut, getting it required that I cut off six hard-earned inches.
Let me back up: after Hair Debacle ’96, I kept my hair short. Not as short as the original cut (I wisely grew that bad boy out my junior year of high school), but short enough to maintain my Short Hair Girl status. In 2001, it hit my shoulders for a stint, but it wasn’t long before cut it short again.
Until two years ago. Two years ago, I decided to grow it out REALLY long, which, when I made this pronouncement, meant to my collarbone. And grow it I did. Thanks to all the pregnancy hormones that flooded my body a year later, by the time Lil Mil arrived, I had Long Hair. Halfway-down-my-back long hair.
And I loved it. Even though I never felt like it totally suited me, I loved how it felt and how it looked. It was youthful. Sexy. Versatile (in theory at least… I never actually did anything particularly interesting with it). Most important, it was LONG.
But then two tiny hands started pulling on it, and clumps of it started falling out (bye bye hormones), and suddenly there was HAIR EVERYWHERE.
And so, in a sleep deprived haze, I walked into my hair salon for a trim.
An hour later, I walked out with a bob.
I have regretted it ever since.
Husband thinks I’m crazy. “You’re a Short Hair Girl,” he says with a shrug.
“So you didn’t like my long hair?” I ask.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I’m just saying, you’re a Short Hair Girl.”
“You only think that because I had short hair when you met me,” I point out.
“Maybe,” he admits.
“Look at this picture!” I moan, pointing at a photo of me with long locks, wearing the smile of a youthful, sexy, versatile person. He examines the photo.
“Yeah, you look good there.”
“So you like my hair better long?” I demand.
“You realize you’re being ridiculous, right?”
“Yes!” I shout. “I know! I’m being totally and completely ridiculous. I am not this girl! I do not freak out over haircuts! Especially cute haircuts!” (It’s a very cute haircut.)
“Why are you shouting?”
“Because I miss my long hair!”
I miss my long hair.
Who is this person and what has she done with me? Where has she hidden the ballsy fifteen-year-old who walked through the halls with her scissor-hacked head held high when most girls would’ve demanded to be home schooled until it grew out (yes, it was that bad)?
What exactly am I mourning?
My youth? My sex appeal? My, um, versatility?
All of these things. None of these things.
I am a Short Hair Girl. But, for a few months, this Short Hair Girl was a Long Hair Girl. And during those long haired months, I found this new voice and this new part of me and this incredible and totally unexpected mommy mojo. I became a New Me. An I’m-comfortable-with-who-I-am-now New Me. And that New Me had long hair. And, as silly and lame as it sounds, somehow that long hair was part of the package.
And now it’s gone.
It doesn’t make any sense. It doesn’t make sense that my identity could be tied up in my hair.
“You realize you’re being ridiculous, right?”
I do.
+ + + +
What was the worst haircut you ever got? Have you ever cried over a haircut? Do you feel like your identity is tied up in your appearance (even if it shouldn’t be)? Are you a Short Hair Girl?
Amy
Wednesday, 2 June, 2010 at 12:22When I was 10 years old, I had what was considered long hair for me, about to my collarbone. I wanted a chin-length bob. I told the hairdresser this.
I left with a bowl cut.
For the next few months, people asked my dad if I was one of his sons (I already dressed like a boy at the time and wore an Atlanta Braves baseball cap often, so I can see why they thought that). I was so humiliated and embarrassed, and I never, ever, ever let that woman touch my hair again. Ever.
And despite my grandmother’s protests (she always wanted me to have short hair), I grew my hair halfway down my back over the next two years.
6512 and growing
Wednesday, 2 June, 2010 at 10:10Picture please!
I spent so many years messing with my hair – dye, cuts, perms – that now I just leave it alone. Which means I have no “hairstyle” or style at all, but at least it’s low-maintenance.
Hope Kidd
Tuesday, 1 June, 2010 at 18:58It makes total sense to “freak out” about a haircut. I always find haircuts traumatizing. My hair grows EXTREMELY slowly, so if it’s a bad cut, we’re talking a good 6 months where I feel ugly. No one likes to feel ugly. If you feel ugly, you feel all-around crappy about yourself, and that affects your everyday actions and feelings.
Well, that’s me anyway.
But let’s see a picture of this adorable new haircut…
Eva @ Eva Evolving
Tuesday, 1 June, 2010 at 18:13And by the way, I love the hairstyle as a metaphor for personality. I can see why you mourn the loss of your long hair, but all the ways you’ve grown in the past months will stay. And isn’t that the beauty of women’s hair? We can change the cut, the color, put it up, and feel different for awhile.
Eva @ Eva Evolving
Tuesday, 1 June, 2010 at 18:12Ugh. Like Lenore, I went through the perm phase. Although mine was in about 3rd grade. At that age I didn’t understand *why* on earth my permed hair didn’t look like celebrities perfectly coifed and full bodied manes.
I, too, am a short hair girl. I had long hair when we were married, and a couple times since then I’ve attempted – with determination – to grow it long. But it just doesn’t look good on me. It doesn’t flatter my face, my hair is too thin to look good long, and I don’t feel as confident. I’ve realized I like the *idea* of long hair, but not the actuality of it.
Now I stick with my chin-length bob. Essentially the same haircut, same stylist for as long as I’ve been married – I love her.
Christine LaRocque
Tuesday, 1 June, 2010 at 12:58I’m giggling. I hate my hair, and have so few good hair days. I still haven’t discovered a style I can really work…and some that I went through in high school. Well that’s enough said about that.
Naomi Odes Aytur
Monday, 31 May, 2010 at 19:46I had a similar experience with hair color. I became a red head, then a strawberry blond for what was supposed to be like…a year or two. It turned into 7 years, including my wedding. Why?? Because I loved it. I loved the person I had become as a strawberry blond. I definitely got more attention (it’s true what they say about blonds having more fun, btw), I was sassy, I was provocative, I was a party girl! People I met during those 7 years had NO idea I was really a dark brunette (even when my roots came in every 4 weeks, they couldn’t see it). People said the strawberry color matched my eyes and my freckles and they marveled when I showed them pictures of me with brown hair. “Really?? I can’t believe that!!”
What I didn’t like was: 1) the upkeep-=sitting in a chair for 3 hours every 6 weeks was a serious drag, and time I simply don’t have right now. 2) the price tag, and 3) the damage I was ultimately doing to my already fine and thin hair.
So before I got pregnant, I went back to natural. Instantly, it was like those 7 years never existed. I looked in the mirror and felt like the former me, definitely wiser, but I couldn’t see that blond girl anymore. For a long time I wished to go back but then lots of my old friends who knew me before I went lighter said they never told me but they really always preferred me as a brunette. They said they were glad I was back. At first, I was perplexed and a little hurt by their true feelings, but then I realized I still have the sassy provocative party girl inside, I just don’t need that person right now. Right now, I am happy to be brown haired me. I only need to remember, if I ever want it back, it’s just a salon trip away.
BTW, one somewhat sad outcome of being blonde at my wedding is that my almost 2 yr old son doesn’t recognize me in the pictures. He always asks to see “Pictures of Daddy” and points to our wedding album. I reinforce the fact that Mommy is in fact in these photos too, but I’m not sure he believes me.
kim
Monday, 31 May, 2010 at 7:58You’re beautiful both ways!
Lenore @ Lather. Write. Repeat.
Monday, 31 May, 2010 at 6:29Ugh. Definitely the perms in high school (but leave the bangs straight mom so I can tease them!!). So not my perfect self. I’ve always been a little anal about my hair but I go through phases, long and short and there’s things I love and hate about both. You just have to rock what you’ve got!
I do understand the mourning phase though…
XO
Lenore
Rudri
Sunday, 30 May, 2010 at 21:09One of my mom’s friends cut my hair at home. IT was horrific. I still remember giving my mom the look of death.
I am a short hair girl. It seemed like a rite of passage after I graduated law school. My husband prefers it short, so I have kept it that way.
Rebecca @ Diary of a Virgin Novelist
Sunday, 30 May, 2010 at 9:45I want to see a picture!
I’ve been the victim of many “at-home” haircuts. Unfortunately, I have no one to blame but myself as it was always me doing the chopping.
Nicole Larsen
Sunday, 30 May, 2010 at 8:36http://www.wvculture.org/history/whm10.jpg
I’m not sure if this haircut was my idea or my mom’s, but at 7 years old, can I really claim responsibility? When I dig out the actual pic of me, I’ll email you and you’ll die laughing. My hair has NEVER been shorter than my shoulders (and actually never even that short) since.
TheKitchenWitch
Sunday, 30 May, 2010 at 7:15The worst hair crime, after the home perm in 7th grade, would have to be the Dorothy Hamill haircut. Cringe.
I don’t look good with long hair–mine is just too fine in texture. Almost every boyfriend of my youth begged me to grow it long, and then once it got to a certain length, they’d say, “You know? You were right. Cut it.”
Guess I’m a short-hair girl, too.
shauna-accidental gardener
Saturday, 29 May, 2010 at 10:43Too funny. I always had a perm in elementary school. I thought, my hair is “naturally curly” now…why should I brush it? It got so knotted that I just cut out the knot. I think I was 8 or 9. When my mom and hairdresser asked me what happened…I just said…”I have no idea what you are talking about”. I think everyone has a funny hair story. I used to cut my ex-husbands hair. He liked it really short…once the length attachment fell off the clippers and I shaved a bald strip down the back of his head. It was halarious!
laurenmmiller
Saturday, 29 May, 2010 at 6:36Comments should be working now!