I sat on the floor, probably painting my toenails with my phone wedged between my ear and shoulder. It would have been one of our fortnightly calls where my friend Mona and I would catch up and essentially download the events of the previous 2 weeks into a one sometimes, two hour phone call.
First, we’d discuss important things like the kids, work, love and as always, they’d be time at the end for AOB – all other business.
Lately, my hair had become a regular feature in the AOB section – this week was no different.
“Monaaaa”, I whined. “I really want to cut my hair but I’m convinced I’m going to look like a boy. I wish there was some way I could preview before I put a pair of scissors to my hair!”.
She took a moment to consider (for the 111th time) then thoughtfully replied, “Maybe you could look at pictures of when you were younger and had short hair? That might give you an idea of what you’ll look like.” Mmm, that could be interesting, I thought.
After I came off the phone, I fetched my box of family pictures and casually flicked through them. Almost immediately, I was confronted by a picture of a sweet little boy in a pretty dress.
As a child, I had a deep, husky voice. That, combined with my boyish looks and unisex name meant that I was often mistaken for a boy.
As I looked through pictures of me as a little boy, I noticed I looked happy and at peace with myself. I started thinking about when my hair had become such a big deal and why this “boy thing” mattered so much – 3 things occurred to me.
I wanted to cut my hair because I wanted to. It was not for anyone else but me.
I’ve noticed that as I get older, my list of regrets grows with me. Most of my regrets are things that are now outside of my control. It would be a shame for me to one day find myself on my death bed carrying this actually, rather inconsequential regret which today, is 100% within my power to fulfil.
My identity. I am a Christian and the bible tells me that “I am fearfully and wonderfully made”. When I think of that verse, I picture God holding me and trembling, in awe of this beautiful thing He has created. To me, this means there is not a single hair on me that is out of place.
I’m pretty much flawless and you better believe that if God has a man out there who is partial to a woman with boyish good looks, I’m not going to stand in the way of that – chop it all off 😉
It’s just hair. As a black woman, my hair is an important part of my identity. For many black women the frustrations we have with our hair are embedded in our genes, or in my view, in the definitions of beauty birthed in media. However, at the end of the day, it’s just hair. Mine may never be blond, poker straight and grow all the way down my back but, it will grow back. Worst case scenario, I figured if I didn’t like it, I could put it in braids and weaves until it was long enough to start lacquering with chemicals all over again – hooray!
And that, is the story of how I finally made up my mind.
Cutting my hair has been a bitter sweet experience. I love observing the way people react to my hair. Many of my black family and friends still don’t get why I felt I had to do it but yet, I notice this strange fascination. They like it… they admire it… but no, it’s too much! Still, every so often, I catch them staring. It’s like their mind is working, perhaps reprogramming… well, at least I hope.
I have pulled together a list of my top 5 observations since I cut my hair. As always, there is a fine line between humour and stark reality – I hope you find it interesting. No. 1 I think I look like a boy
Despite the overflow of well-wishing comments about how I would “totally rock a little fro” or “how I have the face to carry off short hair”, I think I look like a boy. I think most women who cut their hair feel the same way. According to me and my 2 friends, the only exception to this rule applies to the 0.5% of women who look like Halle Berry. Outside of this, there is a strong chance if you cut your hair, you will look in the mirror and think “Mmmm. A nice African boy”.
No. 2 It feels soooo good. You know that feeling after a night out when you get home, take off your 6 inch heels, unclasp your bra [insert ahhhhh] and slip into your cosy pyjamas? Imagine that feeling everyday. Technically, you have no need to wear a head scarf, no need for straightners, no bad hair days. You just wake up in the morning, wet your hair, comb it out, pat it down and you are good to go in 4 minutes flat… EVERYDAY
No. 3 Short hair does care
Contrary to popular belief, I think short hair does care. In an attempt compensate for my new boyish looks, I find I wear more make up. Leaving the house without earrings has now become a crisis equivalent to forgetting my mobile phone at home. It’s that naked feeling which forces you to go back in the house even though you are already sat in the car, seat belt buckled, engine revving to go. My conclusion, short hair definitely does care.
No. 4 Its a cold world out there!
Since I cut my hair, I’ve found the world just that little bit less helpful. I can’t decide whether my short afro hair makes me look like some kind of stereotype society doesn’t welcome around here or quite simply, I just don’t suit my new hair! I find the female shop assistant is not as warm and quick to help me find aisle number 26.
Fewer people seem to notice me struggling up the stairs with that heavy bag. Male colleagues are not as willing to help me with my small favour. My advise in short, prepare to do more heavy lifting!
No. 5 I feel BEAUTIFUL
OK, I concede may no longer be society’s bog standard definition of beautiful but, there is something gratifying about knowing that the way I look first thing in the morning is more or less the way I look everyday. I no longer go from 26inches of flowing tresses to a 6inch bob and back again to 26inches overnight. So, no false advertising to potential suitors – what you see is what you get. 100% non Brazilian, definitely African hot stuff 😉
Although beauty is definitely in the eye of the beholder ;-)!!!