if i get my hair cut really short, i'll look like a man. i'll look like my brothers. i'll look too butch.
i'll look ugly. unattractive. old. not young. pre-menopausal.
no one will think i'm cute anymore.
if i don't get my hair cut really short, i am betraying my sex. i'll hate myself for the vanity and the ignorance. i'll feel guilty that my feminist self is cowering behind my Los Angeles-living body.
did i mention if i get my hair cut short it will make me look fatter?
did i mention that just writing that makes me gag?
if i get my hair cut really short, i'll want to grow it out immediately and then that will be hard. if i don't get it cut, i'll continually want to shear it all off, just 'cause i can.
and should. and shouldn't.
this is what it's like in my self-absorbed head these days. ALL OVER A STUPID FUCKING HAIRCUT.
but today, something sealed my decision.
i think.
in kindergarten, we had a big talk about boys and girls: what it means to be a boy, what it means to be a girl. almost every girl talked about how much they like being one because they have long hair. the one boy in class who wants to be a girl right now talked about wanting long hair but knowing he couldn't because everyone would laugh at him. some chimed in that their dads used to have long hair. i chimed in that my head used to be shaved. we talked about cancer patients.
all those little girls and boys, looking at me, thinking i'm more feminine because my hair is longish. my mirror self looking at me, thinking i'm more pretty because my hair is longish. that sweetheart wanting to be a girl for the long locks and dresses. all of us, all twisted up in what it means to look beautiful.
today, with my five and six-year olds surrounding me, i made my decision. it's coming off. there's a price to pay for this, but i'm not sure what it is yet. it's a self-made tax, but i think it will be worth it.
shorn, clipped, reduced. rediscovered. there is bravery in me yet.
we'll see.
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