Whose Hair Is It Anyway?

I'm 62 years old. That's what it says on my birth certificate anyway. I don't feel 62...at least not in my mind. My body is something else entirely. While my 'sausage casing' is showing the inevitable signs of aging, my mind lives on in a state of perpetual youth. In there, I feel about the same as I did at 21. But better: more seasoned, a bit more confident, less hesitant, less self-doubt, etc.

Except...sometimes when my husband and I are talking, which we do a lot, and I realize we sound like...two crabby, intolerant old farts. I speak and my mother's voice comes out. (!!!) Oh, dear. I fight it, of course. But she just keeps coming through. She would be proud maybe...I'm appalled. How did this happen?

I came of age during the bra-burning, man-bashing, women's lib explosion of the late sixties and early seventies. If you had any self-respect at all, you needed a good dose of feminism in your heart and soul. I did. And still do. And tried to infuse that hardy self-belief in my daughter's head from birth. I hope I was quite successful there.

Me at seventeen (1970)

So my question is...why do some of us still do certain 'un-liberated' things for the men in our lives? Make ourselves look a certain way? I'm primarily thinking of hair. Yes, hair.

In the eighties, I grew my short hair out and eventually achieved the highly coveted (at the time) wavy, layered hair so popular then. Seriously, look at the height on that do! It was during one of my 'thinner' periods and looked pretty good. The man I was having a relationship with at the time really liked it. A lot.

Me circa 1986

So where was my inner feminist when he and I called it quits after five years and out of pure spite, I had my girlfriend chop my hair off very short? With every snip of her scissors, I mentally jabbed my ex right square in the heart. It felt pretty good at the time, but what a waste of wonderful and hard-earned hair that had taken forever to grow out.

I'm not the only woman who's ever done that very same thing. In one way, it's very freeing to symbolically slash away those 'ties that bind'. Is it that when we end a relationship our psyche needs some ceremony to embark on a new beginning? I don't know for sure what all the reasons were, but though I felt empowered with every lock that fell to the floor, I soon regretted having cut my hair. (Segue to tear rolling down cheek.)

Even today, still wearing my hair short and rather mannish, I do keep my dear old husband in mind. It was short when we met and he's always maintained he likes it. Except when I came home from the hairdresser once and he finally asked me, "Why does he always make it so poofy on top?" Now I take great care not to let it be poofy. No poofiness here, boy howdy. This is now an Anti-Poofy Zone.

Photo from Bliss Salon

But other than disapproving of Poofiness, my dear husband makes no demands on me about my hair, makeup, clothes or anything. When I told the stylist to cut it ultra short 'like a man's', he didn't bat an eye. When I bought a box of Feria Power Violet hair color, he said not a word. (I have yet to use it.) Last fall when I had the hairdresser add a few purple streaks, he said maybe next time more than just a few might be fun. Wow, really?

Me at 62
'Like a man's' with purple streaks.

After years of some of the shortest hair ever, I've decided to grow it out once again. But only a few inches for now---my heart is yearning for an A-line cut, stacked short in the back. This is probably not in style any more, but what the heck. It's just for me.

Till next time,

"People always ask me how long it takes to do my hair. I don't know, I'm never there." ~ Dolly Parton