It is her glory
The day I had committed to shave my head for charity I was so nervous I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t figure out where the nausea was coming from, because deep down I believe that I’m fearless. Deeper down– like in my stomach, I guess I know I’m not.
Outwardly, I was blasé about losing all my hair. It would grow back, I told people, myself. It didn’t matter. But really I was quite attached to my hair. For years I’d been bleaching it out and dying it outrageous colors: orange, pink, purple, blue. It was the first thing people noticed, and most people loved it. Little kids thought I was a muppet; old women thought I was brave. For me, crazy hair took no courage. I can honestly say, even looking back and in the searing light of day, that I was never rebelling against anything, and I wasn’t after attention. I just wanted to dye my hair crayola colors: it felt comfortable, oddly natural. It was me.
There were several reasons I decided to shave it off, but the main one was that I knew the only reason not to do it was fear. Fear wrapped up in vanity, which is perhaps the most repulsive kind. My philosophy supports doing anything that you’re afraid to do when there are no good, logical reasons to back up that fear. A dread of being unattractive just doesn’t count, especially up against raising money for charity. But I couldn’t help being scared that losing my hair meant losing a huge part of my identity. Maybe without awesome hair I wouldn’t be me anymore. Even worse, I might be really fucking ugly.
So my stomach was a mess underneath my cool “What is hair anyway, in the grand scheme of things?” exterior. But I didn’t back out. I sat through the dull-clipper-tearing-my-hair-out-instead-of-cutting-it stage, the these-replacement-clippers-hurt-much-less stage, the oh-dear-I-have-a-mohawk stage, each of these taking roughly five minutes. And then, after all that, I had a really short crew cut, more a faint suggestion of hair than an actual hairstyle.
My boyfriend Laramy wanted to like my baldness. I know he did. I think he even expected to be oddly aroused by my Ellen Ripley from Alien 3 look. It just didn’t work out that way. He was nice about it, he even avoided admitting it and told me I looked good, just as supportive as you like, but I could tell after a while that he was less attracted to me. I’m not sure if it’s too defeminizing or if my face isn’t quite as pretty as he was counting on. It took him a while to disclose what it took me almost as long to sense. In his diplomatic words, “I think you’re a little sexier with hair.”
Unfortunately, this tame admission happened shortly after a bit of a health downturn for me, that coincided with a weird sort of chemical self-loathing that crops up from time to time as a perk of having my fun and glamorous chronic illness. Of course, the self-loathing fairy visits even the healthiest of us sometimes, but she’s been camped under my pillow like crazy lately.
Really, this has very little to do with how much hair I have. I nurse some major hangups about my looks anyway (hell, most of us probably do). A part of me is probably always going to feel the need to apologize– especially to people who have to see me naked, but to everyone, really– for not being prettier, thinner, younger, taller, shorter (yes, at the same time), healthier, and more adherent to the golden ratio. I want to apologize for having stretch marks and B-cups and a ridiculous, inappropriate-because-I’m-not-a-beautiful-person sex drive. Also, now I’m sorry that I have no hair. Just like that.
It’s silly. It’s all irrational. I’m taking insecurity to legendary levels. And a hairstyle shouldn’t be suddenly off limits because I’m afraid of the specter of turning off my partner. And it isn’t. But it’s a worry. No one ever seems to say “I’m sorry, but I’m just not attracted to you anymore.” So how am I supposed to really know when it happens? Bald feels easy at first, man, but turns out, it’s hard.
I really want to do this. Just to say that I’ve done it.
I think that a way to look at it could be that the baldness is a temporary thing, and what makes it hot is the fact that you did it for an awesome cause, and that baldness represents something beautiful, whether or not everyone sees it as simply aesthetically beautiful. There’s beauty behind the cause that you shaved your head for. There’s beauty behind the balls that it took to do it in the first place. And there’s beauty in the fact that you’re not conforming to mainstream standards of beauty.
I’m willing to bet that you look amazing.
Three times in my life I’ve lopped off waist-length hair to something pixie-cut-ish or shorter, so I know what it is to have a dramatic change(though not entirely bald). I, too, felt it was very freeing to make the change, but I felt indignant the last time when one of my father’s friends remarked that I’d ruined my one great beauty. *insert eye-rolling here*
I had my technicolour hair years in my 20s, and I think it is indeed a glory to have that canvas on which to embroider and embellish what nature wrought. I understand how cutting it away can make you feel suddenly bereft, too, as if you’ve lost something of your identity.
Actually, what you wrote here about facing fears head on made me remember something I’d read, a Hollywood actress (sharon stone?) had said in acting school a teacher asked her what scares her, and she said “being naked in front of strangers” and the teacher said “then that is what you need to do and put it behind you.” Mebbe Shaz went a little overboard, and mebbe not. :) Anyway, it’s a bold and liberating thing to face trepidation and dispense with same. I doff my hat to you, dear.
The great thing about your hair? You’re making more, baby.
Oh, and as for your boyfriend finding you less hot that way, I can identify because very much of my sense of being attractive has to run through the filter of what my significant other thinks about my attractiveness. Perhaps that’s perverse, but there you have it. And I am sure, honey, that he doesn’t find you unattractive, just that you are missing an element he strongly identifies with you and probably craves. Good on you both. You’ll have fun growing out a new crop, and he’ll treasure it all the more.
I’m a dude, but I love having a shaved head. It’s easier to manage (Easier? Hell, there’s no management to it), the wind feels great, and cool pillows on hot nights feel even better. I’ve been wearing my hair longer lately, but it just doesn’t feel right and reading this made me want to take the clippers to the bathroom, like, five minutes ago.
I understand it has to take a little courage or a “fuck what other people think” attitude for women just because of societal pressures and all that, but I’ve always found it really sexy when a woman shaves her head.
Between this and the girls in boys’ underwear thing, I’m starting to think my friends are right about me being a latent homosexual. Oh well, fuck it.