Curl Be Gone

Hair has always been somewhat of an issue for me.  Genetic inheritance accorded me frizzy curls (is there any other kind ??)  I knew from a young age that I was supposed to love those curls, because many a woman (and some unfortunate men) paid good money on a monthly basis to have them chemically induced.  Those women were sure to let me know it, too.  I remember old ladies eulogizing my curls in rapturous refrain.  Curls were lovely!  And amazing!  A blessing from heaven!  How they wished they had been born with curls!  How many uncomfortable nights of hair tied tightly to their heads would it have saved them!

Conversely, I remember my grandmother, who also had curly hair, calling my genetic inheritance a curse.  In fact, most curly haired people I've encountered have had a similar reaction.  They know a secret.  I know it, too.  It is this: To the observer, curly hair looks just fine, nifty, maybe even beautiful or desirable, but to the owner of real live curly hair, it is an uncontrollable monster with a mind of its own.

I spent some teenage years trying to tame and control it with negligible success.  Then I moved to the desert for college where all of my hair taming dreams came true.  Five years of smooth, shiny, flat control.

But home is NY where it rains two-thirds of the year and is humid every remaining day.  Water is to my hair what the full moon is to a werewolf.  Therefore, my hair expresses animalistic qualities in NY.  I would spend a half hour drying and straightening my hair then walk outside to have it morph pretty quickly into a twirly, frizzy monster baring fangs and claws.  It was frustrating and a waste of time, so I gave up the fight.  I came to terms with frizzy-curly beast being just the way it is and experienced some peace in the acceptance.  I just let it grow and grow and sometimes, when I got tired of the length I would flip my head upside down and wield a pair of scissors.  Curly hair absorbs scissors mishaps like it was born to.  On the worst days, rubber bands really came in handy.

My struggles with hair aren't all aesthetic, though.  Sometimes, the wildness is also cumbersome and uncomfortable.   It feels heavy and awkward on my head; it trails in tangles around my neck, in my face, down my back.  In times of discomfort, peace is hard to come by.

About six months ago, I started feeling a lot of angst regarding my hair.  The more cumbersome it felt, the more I noticed its flawed appearance.  The more I thought about how it looked, the more I cared.  The more I cared, the more I thought other people cared.  I became infected with this idea that people looked at my hair before they looked in my eyes.  My hair was me!  It was taking over my entire image of myself, (a desperate situation, for sure).  After working for six years to come to terms with the curly mass attached to my scalp, I had undone every semblance of peace.

One morning, not long ago, I went into the bathroom to shower, caught a glimpse of myself (read: my hair) in the mirror and decided then and there that I had had enough.  I didn't even bother to trifle through our hair stuff for the sharp hair-cutting clippers; I went straight for the somewhat dull kitchen scissors.  And I cut off my pony tail.  All of it.  Then I took out the rubber band and did my best to make the cut even.  When I was done, it could barely be held back.   It hung about three inches above my shoulders, somewhere between my chin and earlobe, still a curly mass, just less of it.  In fact, it seemed even more wild now that it was lighter weight and short.

I decided pretty quickly after the cut that I didn't take off enough of it, but logistically, I couldn't cut my own hair any shorter, so I enlisted my husband who was unsure of his abilities.  That made me nervous, so finally after about a month of my ponytail chop, I determined to pay someone professional to cut the rest off.

Though disappointing to have to pay for it, the cut was a success.  I have never felt so comfortable and unconcerned with my hair.  I've heard women with short cuts say, "Short hair, don't care" and in the past I didn't really understand, but I get it now.  I have short hair and it means I don't have to care about it anymore, because it barely exists.  It isn't heavy or hot.  It doesn't snarl or tangle its way down my neck.  It is even too short to be frizzy or even very curly.  I can make it go straight just by wearing a hat for a while.  It can never get in my mouth or go up my nose.  I couldn't spend much time on it, even if I wanted to.  It is awesome.

Short hair
 Don't care!