Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Transformation is a Way of Life, Not a Moment in Time
We see the magician, one arm raised to the heavens, one pointing at earth, all the four-element tools before her, hummingbirds a-hovering by her shoulders. Then we notice the locks of hair - bringing forth both Samson and the Gorgon.
The most radical thing I have ever done was cut my hair. When I was a kid, my hair was sparse, thin, and cut short like a boy's. People often mistook me for a boy because I wore jeans and T-shirts instead of dresses.
I always wanted long hair. My mother had hers down to her waist, as did both of my babysitters. This was in the early days of Disney, and all the princesses had long blonde hair. I remember crying at Woolworth's because the only princess mask was Cinderella, and she had blonde hair when mine was brown.
My hair finally started to grow in elementary school. This started long fights with my mother. Our chant: “First the brush, then the comb, then the rubber band.” I would keep it contained in one or two braids. By the time I was in high school, I could sit on it. I never got it cut. Occasionally my mother would trim the split ends. It was only in my 20s that I finally got bangs.
During my first marriage, things got a little bit rocky, and I remember thinking, if we broke up, what would I do? I knew instantly I would cut my hair and do a ritual with it. I became the butch babe I was always attracted to.
In 1994, I went to my brother's hairdresser to chop off my hair. I made a thick braid which was deftly sliced off. That rope of hair lived above my altar for over a decade. One day I decided that as my hair contains my history, I should allow it to be free. I went down to Lighthouse Field and released the strands into the breeze so the birds could make their nests.
I walked into Herland and gave my wife a big hug from behind. She turned and put her hands on my head, stepped back, and said, "I thought you could never surprise me."
It served me well, this butch cut. A classic flat top, a touch of hair gel, I looked like a little spiky hedgehog. Being the queen Amazon at the lesbian bookstore, I needed to be tough, a warrior. Every day I was baited by random men who had nothing to do but try to argue politics.
After Herland closed in 2004, I grew out my hair. I wanted to be the Priestess rather than the Warrior. I exchanged my contact lenses for prescription glasses, bought a plethora of long, flowy skirts and tunic tops, covered my tattoos, and worked hard to embody the archetype of the healer.
Much to my surprise, my hair grew out thick and wavy, when it has always been flat and straight. I keep it about shoulder length, and my hairdresser, who really is my therapist.. She cuts layers upon layers to free me from the weight on my neck and still frame my face. She always cuts my bangs too long, but I love her anyway.
I walked over to my local coffee shop and ran into an old friend, who said, "Oh, you look so different!"
And I thought, yes, because I am not the same.
