Thursday, 9/18/03 - 13:33
Skinny dipping for the first time made me into a mermaid or an angel with my hair streaming everywhere, and it made the men into classical statues. I can't resist floating on my back.
So I was all set to mourn some mythic part of myself when I got my hair chopped off Tuesday -- no more mermaid, no more angel, no more goddess, no more elf -- but as it turns out, that won't be necessary. I got a good haircut. But why did I decide to cut my hair in the first place, you might ask, if I thought if was going to have drastic de-mermaiding consequences? Because I figured it would help me finish my master's thesis. Yes, really. The rational explanation is that I'll have an easier time approaching potential interview subjects if I feel more confident, and that I'll feel more confident if my hair looks more with it, a bit older, and a bit more professional. The less rational explanation is that my long hair meant that I really was some clown and not a mature person destined for a career in hardcore scholarship. I figured too that if I wanted to look more with it, I'd have to to stop looking like something out of place and out of time.
Sure, I know that clown and scholar aren't actually opposed, but my gut insists otherwise. It further counters that, except for a few brief unfortunate intervals, I've worn my hair the same way since fourth grade, and it reminds me that back in the day -- i.e. middleschool -- back when I spent too much time fantasizing about my life with the elves, I was really pathetic. The natural reply to my gut's argument was that even though I was pathetic in middle school, I was also clearly superior to everyone else. They had to change the format of the year-end awards ceremony to keep me from winning every single academic award they had, including art. As it was, I still won enough to upset the mothers' council. But even as I made that argument, I realized that my gut had already gone off rumbling to itself, clearly not listening, so I got my hair cut to just a couple inches above the chin.
Informal studies on weddingchat.com show that the majority of medium- to long-haired brides get a haircut after the wedding, often after spending over a year growing their hair out. Many former brides also express a visceral distaste for their long hair, describing it as something icky which they can't wait to be rid of. At first that seems silly, given that many women on weddingchat also mourn that they'll never again be as beautiful as on their "special day." A major reason for the wholesale hair-chopping is convenience, but their comments also reflect the sense that they need to change something to fit their new role, or at least to get out of the role of bride. Two quick examples: "it's so cute, I love it! I finally look like a professional working, married woman!" and "I was really ready for a change, it made me feel like the wedding was over and my life was back to normal!"
So there you go -- enter the everyday magical practice of invoking new powers by changing your mask. I'm exemplifying broader cultural tendencies. I mean, aside from the fact that I still have no sense of style and aside from the fact that I'm busy laughing at myself for taking my hair quite this seriously. I've always thought that if you don't put a lot of energy into your appearance and look horrible, it's much less embarassing than spending whole minutes on it a lot and still looking horrible. You could also argue that the way I'm thinking about my hair right now means that I'm not with it and probably never will be, and you'd be right.
Anyway, I'm a little surprised that I don't look too different after all, just better. And Jerome -- who spells his name with French scratch over the vowels, presumably to indicate that he's an avatar of the cosmic hairstylist -- harvested my old hair for cancer victims, so I'm happy pretty much all around. Except that I'm convinced that I don't look quite as good naked as I used to, and I still need to do more interviews.
(In case you're wondering what the haircut actually looks like, there are pictures on our website in the Santa Barbara album, but I don't want to link to them here. E-mail me if you need the URL, or look at the friends-only link in my livejournal.)
Long live Diaryland!
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