Because now I'm preoccupied and won't be able to focus on other stuff til I type this up.
Hi, I'm 'song, and this is my hair. This is the most recent pic of my hair, and is what it looks like most days. Sometimes it is curlier
.My Hair and Childhood
I grew up with long blonde hair that I loved. Then my mother had it all cut off. Full-on Dorothy Hamill cut. That was the same summer I got (big clunky) glasses, and also the summer that a lot of other childhood stuff went south. That was the first big hit to my self-esteem, and also very much a loss of control. For the first time, my physical self did not match what I looked like to myself. Very jarring.
To this day, my mother bugs me about my hair and how much better I look with short hair. Short hair is my mother's ideal of me. My Hair and my Adolescence
I grew it back as soon as I could.
Here's something some of you may never have thought of: long hair can be used against you. In a fight, I mean. When you're trying to get away from the Bad Boyfriend. That hair is another thing to grab you by and control you with.
I'm just saying.
I cut my hair off again in high school.My Hair and my Early Twenties
I grew it back as soon as I could.
Why, given all that? Because I love it long. Because the me in my head has long hair.
Because no one else should get to decide things about my body, and I should not have to look a way I don't want to look in order to defend myself better against a hypothetical attacker. Any more than I should stop walking home at night or stop wearing jeans that my ass looks good in or stop talking to strangers.My Hair as an Act of Defiance
I will not look like my mother wants me to look; I will look how I want to look.
I will not structure my life around theoretical and futile "prevention" measures.
I will not let things that happened decades ago control me.
I will embrace my hair, even if it gets stuck under my purse strap and takes four hours to dry.
Because I love my hair long, and it is one of my favorite parts of me.
I have not cut my hair short since Elayna was an infant.My Hair and my Boundaries
You probably do not get to touch my hair, and you need to be okay with that. Like I said in my earlier post, I'm not okay with people I'm not intimate with touching my hair. Partly because being surprised by anyone unexpectedly touching me in any way can be unpleasant. Partly because some ways in which people touch my hair can be erotic, and I'd really rather not get turned on in the coffeehouse, thanks.
Partly because it's my body and these are my boundaries and that's that. And if you think you have a right to get all grabbyhands on any part of a person that you find attractive, whether that's okay with the person or not - we've got a problem, y0.My Hair and my Religion
Many conservative and Orthodox Jewish women cover their hair. I don't; I'm not that religious. Were I to call myself anything on the Jewish spectrum, I'd be reform.
But as someone who lives very publicly and feels the need to mark boundaries, the need to say "Yes, world, you have most of me, but this part I reserve" - there is something that appeals to me in my hair being reserved for my husband and others with whom I am intimate. Not even just sexually intimate. Emotionally intimate. Not just partners; very close friends. No, I don't cover it. I dye streaks of red into it, I let it flow, I show it off. But the touching is reserved.
So that is a little about me and my hair.