I’d bet anything you have a hair story.
I’m guessing you have a story about your worst haircut and your best, the hair you wished you had and the hair you actually had. You probably have a story about your mom’s hair or your nana’s wig or your grampa’s lack thereof. Maybe you have a story about choosing to cut, grow, shave, trim, color, curl, pluck or straighten your various hair parts.
It’s a funny thing, hair. It grows but isn’t exactly alive. When it’s on our heads it can be sexy, but find one in the sink or your soup and it’s disgusting. Hair is cultural, political, sensual. Hair is a way to fit it or stand out, to signal or to control. Your hair is an expression of you.
After leading embodied classes for twenty-four years, this week is the first time I’ve focused on the physical and emotional sensation of hair. Preparing for classes, I’ve been sucked into a vortex of the science, the racism, the ageism of hair. What strikes me is how personal and universal is the potency of hair. We are only as free as we are with our hair.
A surprising number of my memories are, in one way or another, connected to hair. (My photo archive didn’t provide all the images I wished it had but I offer some for entertainment and illustration.)
Braids & Pixie
My sister, Elizabeth has always been a real blonde as opposed to my “dirty blonde.” When I was 6 and she was 3, her blonde was long down her little girl back. Every morning, my Mum would put it into two sweet braids. Meanwhile, I had this super short pixie situation going that my mother thought was cute. All I wanted was to be the one getting her braids done every morning.
Somebody Else’s Hair
Throughout my life, I’ve worn my hair all sorts of ways — and I’ve loved and hated all of them. Mostly, I wanted someone else’s hair. When the Sonny & Cher show was on in the mid 70s, I would stand on my parents’ bed with my bathrobe pulled over my head like a waterfall of blue quilted hair. I’d dance around and swing it behind me just like Cher as my Mum rolled her eyes.
This is Cher. Not me.
A few years later, Dorothy Hamill was in the winter Olympics and all I wanted was straight, glossy swirling hair like hers.
And of course, I used Short & Sassy shampoo. Of course I did.
She Didn’t Even Brush Her Hair
In the spring of 8th grade, Chris Jones (a guy with truly great thick curly hair) asked me to the movies. When he (and his mom) came to pick me up, I grabbed my jacket. My mother’s friend was visiting and tut tutted as the door closed behind me, “Going on a date and she didn’t even brush her hair.” I was ashamed not to know how to go on a date.
Boy Hair
More than once, I was mistaken for a boy. I hated this more than anything and burned with the shame of my androgyny. In college, I had short hair but I intentionally wore dresses and big earrings to demonstrate my femininity.
Charles
After college I moved to Boston and found Charles, the world’s greatest hair stylist. He got me to highlight my hair and I loved it. I kept highlights in varying degrees in for decades.
50 Shades of Gray
As I headed toward menopause, I knew that the highlights were covering gray. After going back and forth, I chose to stop coloring it. I was both curious about what it would look like and interested in showing up with transparency. For the past decade, I’ve enjoyed letting my silver flag fly. As it gets grayer, though, I’ve been thinking maybe it’s time for a stripe of white … or maybe blue. The cool part is that I feel free to do whatever I want with it. As Lady Gaga says, I’m as free as my hair.
Me and my hair at the moment. 2024.
Are your hair stories ones of pride or longing, tenderness or boldness, excitement or shame? We all have them so if you’re willing, please share your favorite hair story in the comments below.