I did it back in June after a rough few months, feeling the need to do something drastic and start anew. It was the first time in my life I’d had short hair, but something went wrong. The sexiness every woman strives for got swept into the dust pan with all those inches of hair. I was just left with the cute half, woman no more, with bangs so annoying I had no choice but to put them into quasi-pigtails with barrettes. Pass me my pinafore, will you?
I couldn’t wait for it to grow back. But with the breakage from my flat iron, that wasn’t happening. Last week I saw a friend whose long, lustrous hair, with its beautiful layers and flow, made her look like she was on her way to a shoot for Glamour magazine. And what do we women do when we see something we like? We ask who/what/when/where/why/how/is that legal?
So I went to her salon two days ago and sat in her dresser’s chair, waiting to be transformed. An hour or so later, instead of looking like I should be on the front of a magazine along with her, I looked like I should be fronting a rock band. Bummer number two ... but ironic all the same.
Just under three years ago, I WAS a rocker chick. I listened to hard rock bands, wore jeans and tank tops, had red hair, and metal all up and down my ears. My mother, my acting teachers, agents I interviewed with, they all told me the same thing: BE FEMININE. I was though. I was wearing jewelry, and my clothes were fitted and accentuated the curves. According to them, the fact that I didn’t wear a skirt and “nice shoes” daily exempted me from earning this title. If oooonly I’d just do that, then I would officially be female.
Over a few months switched over to dresses, high-heeled boots, straightened my hair, dyed it back to brown, took out most of the piercings, added more than just concealer, and mascara to my face, and voila ... I was a REAL GIRL.
And now, my friends, karma has come to get me. I’m stuck with the haircut that announces me as who I am to the world. Because even though I ditched the accessories, my iPod was still a rock-infused capsule, and still is. But I ask you, why is a “rocker chick” perceived to be any less feminine than the mainstream? Who decided what was to be the mainstream, anyway? And is it worth it to keep striving towards that?