I overheard a couple of my favorite ladies discussing their hair today. It was intense. They have many opinions about the acceptability of their domes including, but not limited to: color, appropriate length, up/down utilities, and stylistic quirks.
It was quite revelatory for me, who can only be described as a philocomal derelict.
If you added up all the time I spend thinking about my appearance, pondering my chapeau would consume an estimated 2%. [See the pie chart below.]
Time Spent Thinking about My Appearance
My hair is okay. It seems to look okay. It is currently keeping my neck warm, a hearty point in its favor since this room is freezing and it was a constant bane in August. But utilitarian aspects aside, pondering the piliform is simply not something I usually do.
Except that now, I can't help but notice the emotion attached to the length of one's tendrils. I refer back to the previously-mentioned overheard conversation. This beautiful buddy of mine confessed that she became annoyed with her long locks when she realized that she always kept it pulled back. So she decided to cut seven inches off. "And then, I was freaking out and crying and like, 'I WANT MY HAIR BACK!' So now I'm growing it back."
The extent of her fringe had nothing to do with how she looked, it was all about how she saw herself. It had less to do with what's on her head than what's in her head.
And I know that a lady's hair is a cultural indicator that broadcasts certain stereotypes, as translated through the filter of our paradigm. But I'm not writing a cultural critique here. This is a fashion blog, after all.
So, in the grand tradition of blogging, allow me to talk about myself some more.
I cut my hair (unreasonably) short in high school.
How's about a homecoming dance, circa 2001? You are so lucky this picture is blurry.
I didn't like it. It was annoying to decorate and left my neck unwarmed for weeks. So I grew a sweet little flapper bob that I donned for years.
Photographic documentation from the pre-digital age, probably 2004.
I loved it. I thought it was cute. But after absolutely no contemplation, I decided to grow my hair long.
A hirsute update from 2005.
And the compliments started pouring in...
How's it hanging, 2007.
"You look so much prettier now."
Poodles approve, 2008
"That short haircut was dumb."
You can refer to the pie chart on this one... 2009
"I love your long hair."
Mannequins need long hair, right? 2010
"Don't ever cut your hair!"
Reenacting the Civil War with some luscious locks, 2011.
Now, if I even mention wanting to return to my flapper bob days, I get a chorus of loved ones recommending length. No, not recommending. Demanding.
Is it because I just look better with longer hair? Is it because a monstrous mane is more feminine? Is it because my curls cover up more of my face? I don't know.
And since I don't have to ply my mop with tools or too much goo, I leave it alone. I'm sure it's okay and anyway, I have other topics to ponder. Like: I wonder where she got those shoes...
Tell me: Do any of you feel the pressure to maintain lengthy locks?