Bits of Me

This was an essay I wrote for the Amherst college supplement. I'm sure it's not what they were looking for.

I look like a lesbian. A stereotypical lesbian, if you will. I have short hair, normally dyed an interesting shade of unnatural, and wear a lot of flannel, collared shirts, and sweaters. I love bowties. My leather motorcycle jacket is my pride and joy. One of the most common questions people ask me (after “How’d you get your hair that color?”) is, “You’re not straight, right?” These days, I proudly answer, “Nope, not straight!” and move on with my life. Two years ago, I wasn’t as comfortable with myself. I felt slightly wrong, off kilter, not lesbian enough. I had long hair, dressed in ratty t-shirts and jeans, and would avoid awkward questions at all costs. I didn’t feel like my outer self matched my inner personality. I needed to be more “stereotypical”. So I cut my hair.

            As the weight of my hair fell away, and I turned willingly to face the mirror, I finally, finally saw something I liked. Yes, the girl looking back at me seemed stereotypical. Her short hair spiked up at the top, her two piercings in each ear were finally visible. She finally walked with a swagger, a confidence. She could finally look at myself and think, “Your inside matches your outside.” So I dressed her in collared shirts and sweaters, jeans and boots, and set her loose on the world. She lived up to the stereotypical expectations I had for her: confident, in herself and in her sexuality, with a wicked dress sense and a snapping personality to match. What I had believed to be simply stereotypes became my life, but without them, I couldn’t be myself.  My ideas of the stereotypical lesbian allowed me to come into my own: a full circle stereotype. 

Strangers

Eyes follow me. It’s always the same: a quick glance, followed by an immediate drop of the gaze, like they know they shouldn’t be staring. But they can’t help themselves, and ever so covertly their eyes creep back. Some blatantly stare, while others make tiny darts with their eyes, like they’re trying to catch me unawares. Little kids stop in their tracks, mouths agape, like they’ve just seen something magical. When I smile, they smile back. Teenagers are more vocal. A passing girl calls out, “Hey, I love your hair!”

I always reply with a huge “Thank you!” and the biggest smile I can muster. I’ve learned that people love it when they can engage, especially with someone as wildly colorful as I am. On any given day, in any given place, people reach out, asking, admiring, awestruck.

~

The two ladies approach gradually, neither of them more than five feet tall. One carries a shopping bag, the other displays hoop earrings and sunglasses, and both have the gait and bearing of grandmothers many times over. They settle themselves next to me, and sure enough, their gazes fall on my hair. They lean together conspiratorially, considering. Finally, the one on the right speaks:

“Your hair… It is so beautiful!” Her Latin American accent caresses the vowels, pushing them across the sentences.

I smile, stretching my face to its limit. “Thank you so much!”

The ladies smile back in unison. They lean in again.

“        The colors, how do you do them? Your mother is ok with this?” They chuckle matching laughs, their faces wrinkling up.

I laugh along with them. I get this question all the time and I know exactly how to answer:

“Well, I get the colors with a lot of time and effort, and my mom doesn’t really mind- it’s my dad who’s more of the problem!” They nod knowingly, as if they’re thinking, “Ah yes, the patriarchy strikes again!” Their eyes remain fixed on my blue and green hair, glowing brightly in the summer sunshine. Even as we settle into a comfortable silence, their smiles stay, and so does mine, until the bus comes and we board, each of us going our separate ways.

~

“Ohmygosh, I love your hair!” The woman smiles, bright and earnest, as she ogles my hair through dark lenses.

“Well thank you!”

“How do you do it? It’s so bright, it’s amazing!”

“Just gorgeous.” The other woman adds.

“How do you do it?”

I stop and assess my flatterers. Two women, one mid 20’s with brown hair pulled back, the other maybe in her mid-50’s, wearing a sunhat. Both have sunglasses, and similar coloring. Mother-daughter, maybe? They seem like they actually want to know, so…

“Well, I have to bleach my hair first, because otherwise the color won’t take. I use semi-permanent dyes to get the color. They fade after about six weeks though, so it leaves plenty of room for changing it when I get bored!”

The women seem to drink in the information as I rattle it off. They can’t stop grinning and looking at each other, like they’re thinking, “Can you believe this girl?”

“What’s your natural hair color?”

“Dark brown, and booooring.”

“Can we take a picture of your hair?” I pause. People rarely ask to take photos, and when they do, it’s never with the honesty and open awe of these two. Their enthusiasm, strangely, matches mine, all of us focused on this slightly bizarre manifestation of my inner rainbow. I view myself through my hair, and these women seem to catch that, and want to remember this moment.

“Um… sure!” I nod my assent for the photo.

The older one whips out her white iPhone, fingers flying across the screen in her eagerness to take the photo. I lean back and turn my head a bit to the side, to show off where the neon pink melds into shiny turquoise. The click of the phone camera signals that a random stranger now owns a piece of my soul, if you believe that sort of superstition. She asks for one more, so she can see the top, and I obligingly tilt my chin down so she can capture the colors on my cranium. The camera clicks once more, and then they’re done. With a last chorus of “Amazing!”, they continue on. A few minutes later, my bus comes, ferrying me from one set of people to another, crazy hair and all. 

All I Think About

For the past couple of weeks, all I can think about is hair dye. Shallow but true. I have a feeling it's becoming an obsession- or is it now a part of who I am? I love having crazy hair. It helps me be more confident, even though I do get funny looks. I like to say that crazy hair is an expression of my crazy mind. That's true, but deep down I think it's because I want people to notice me. In the end, I probably live up to that stupid stereotype that teens do things to be noticed.

In the most basic sense, that's true. People do things to attract the attention of other people. This attraction happens in nature as well- look at peacocks. They flaunt their tails to attract the other peacocks. I'm a peacock, and I love it. A crazy haired peacock.

The only problem with being a peacock is that people see only that- the flaunting and attention seeking. Underneath though, is just a need to have fun. I love unnatural colors, the power and confidence they give me, and the fact that I can change my appearance at will. It's a lovely feeling.

Tomorrow Is...

Blue hair day!

It's been a long time coming. Last year I had red hair, the year before that I had purple streaks. Blue has been on my list for a long time, and now it's finally coming true! I had to wait til my birthday, because I don't have the money to pay for a bleaching job, as my mother refuses to let me do it myself. So my birthday finally came around, and with it my opportunity.

My parents are of two minds. My mom doesn't really have strong feelings one way or the other. Her refrain is "it's just hair. It'll grow back." My dad, on the other hand, does not feel the same way. I'm not entirely sure why- maybe it's because blue hair isn't traditional? He shouldn't be such a hypocrite if that's the case- he did a lot of "nontraditional" things when he was my age. Or the reason may be because when I dyed it red my mom and I... neglected... to inform him of our plans until after the fact. It was a good idea at the time, because he flipped out when he saw the red (and he saw red, hahahaha punny). So perhaps now he is suspicious, but at least we told him in advance.

Its' going to be a gorgeous dark indigo blue, that will hopefully fade to a light purple color. I'm not doing my entire head- just my bangs and a good portion of the top layer. I'm extremely excited! I'll hopefully post pictures tomorrow, while it's all shiny and new.

Best wishes, and cheers to colored hair!

Hair Dye

I'm considering dying my hair. Blue and purple streaks, since you're wondering. I don't know why, it's just been an idea rolling around in my head for a while. Last year I had red hair, and the year before I had purple streaks, but my mom wouldn't let me bleach my hair so they didn't work. Hair color is something of an obsession for me: I always want a new color but I never have the guts to do it. I'd love to be one of those people who changes their hair every month, with awesome results and much eyebrow raising. However, I don't think my dad could survive that. Every time I mention the words "hair" and "dye" in the same sentence he looks perturbed and makes a kind of groaning noise that sounds a bit like a sick dog. I don't understand his problem. Maybe it's because the last time I dyed my hair (a really awesome red-auburn color), my mom and I went to the salon and didn't bother to tell him until after the fact... that's probably it.

This time it's a bit of an argument between my mom and I, because I want to dye/ bleach my hair at home and she wants me to go to a salon. I agree with her, but there's a small problem. I don't think any salon around here is going to 1) have the color dye I want and 2) be willing to do the job for me if I bring my own dye. It's a problem.

These are the two colors I'm thinking of doing:

SFX Blue Velvet
SFX Deep Purple

Tell me what you think!