A Stranger With My Hair
John Gorka sings, "I saw a stranger with your hair..." and he may just see one with mine. At least nine inches of it is on its way, in a padded envelope, to Pantene Beautiful Lengths program. Along with a few other ponytails, it will become a wig for a cancer patient. As difficult as it was for me to elect to chop off so much, after 20 years - give or take - with long hair, it is humbling to know the circumstances under which it will be recycled. My hat, and indeed my ponytail, go off to you, brave survivors. Your struggles were my impetus.
When I shared my plan with co-workers, one well-meaning woman said, "Well, it's only hair". It's so much more than that. My hair has been a large part of my identity. It was something to hide behind, taking the focus away from my flaws. It brought comfort, security. Long hair at my age made me feel unique and, I'll admit it, sexy. Taking out my bun at night I could hear Tom Paxton singing, "When you shook your long hair down, you shook my whole foundation." Plus, long hair fit my wash 'n go lifestyle. My children had never seen me with hair shorter than shoulder length. My youngest declared, "I hate it!" when he saw me with the new cut. It obviously didn't fit who he thought I was, either. But I didn't want to be added to the ranks of Gloria Steinem, Lyle Lovett, Dorothy Hamill, and Crystal Gayle, who are, according to Christine Lavin anyway, prisoners of their hairdos. I was definitely headed in that direction.
I didn't have the slightest idea what style to suggest to the beautician. I don't know my way around styling utensils nor do I want to, so I asked that it be low-maintenance. She gave me a chin-length, layered bob. It feels amazing! It's versatile and bouncy and youthful, yet professional. Who knew short hair could be so much fun? I can't put my finger on it, but I feel different in a positive way. This is a story with a happy ending: I love my new 'do and hopefully a stranger with my hair will love hers, too.
When I shared my plan with co-workers, one well-meaning woman said, "Well, it's only hair". It's so much more than that. My hair has been a large part of my identity. It was something to hide behind, taking the focus away from my flaws. It brought comfort, security. Long hair at my age made me feel unique and, I'll admit it, sexy. Taking out my bun at night I could hear Tom Paxton singing, "When you shook your long hair down, you shook my whole foundation." Plus, long hair fit my wash 'n go lifestyle. My children had never seen me with hair shorter than shoulder length. My youngest declared, "I hate it!" when he saw me with the new cut. It obviously didn't fit who he thought I was, either. But I didn't want to be added to the ranks of Gloria Steinem, Lyle Lovett, Dorothy Hamill, and Crystal Gayle, who are, according to Christine Lavin anyway, prisoners of their hairdos. I was definitely headed in that direction.
I didn't have the slightest idea what style to suggest to the beautician. I don't know my way around styling utensils nor do I want to, so I asked that it be low-maintenance. She gave me a chin-length, layered bob. It feels amazing! It's versatile and bouncy and youthful, yet professional. Who knew short hair could be so much fun? I can't put my finger on it, but I feel different in a positive way. This is a story with a happy ending: I love my new 'do and hopefully a stranger with my hair will love hers, too.
Hi Shelley,
You did a great thing for a worthy cause. My son had done the same thing. I hope you post a picture of the new you on Facebook. I'm sure you look terrific!
Peggy
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Thanks, Peggy! It is on Facebook! That's cool your son donated his hair, too.
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