I Dream of DeeDee with the Long Blonde Hair

Naturally mousy-brown and being made of fine strands (but plenty of them), it was neither fascinating to look at in color or its limpness. In the 80's, time of The Big Hair, I spent hours creating a look that would be large and wild, only to leave the bathroom and its cloud of spray, to make it to the front door where it fell once again.

Once I moved out of the house, on my own, I began to experiment with hair color. I found it not only wonderful to see pretty vibrant color, but the chemical process made my hair fuller -- and in the case of the original formulas of bleach (which I so wish they still made!), going platinum not only stripped my hair of color and limpness, but allowed the style to remain perfection all night long. Even dancing in clubs! Whoopie! I finally had hair that did what I wanted.

But being a woman, there was always a reason to change. Not just the color, but the style and length. One winter, I adored the near-black locks in a chin-length bob. One fall, the lovely long layered hair, in a more natural 'tousled' style, in shades of strawberry blonde (low-lights & high-lights galore!). There was the summer that I gave myself the gift of ease with a fade in the back -- white up top, and near black (by comparison) in the back. Along with the colors by choice, there were the accidents. The platinum went rusty as the apartment water was high in iron. Pouring perm solution over it removed the color right quick, but left a fuzzy-lamb-like feel to my hair. Time for a rather large trim :sigh:

My hair, or the chemically treated stuff I refer to as hair, was never quite as I wanted it for long.

Along the way, in my quest to control my hair, there has been the following:

There were the short cuts which were La Grande Bitches to grow out as I coveted long locks.

There were the colors that wouldn't leave no matter what the salon did and so needed to be covered with darker colors until that section grew out long enough to be cut (and then I had to wait for my longer locks even longer).

I have been invited to be an exotic entertainer based on my diva looks and hairstyle.

There were the boyfriends who loved long locks and whined for me not to get that short style I was in love with and those that threatened to end the relationship if I was no longer a blonde. (Of course, an easy way to break up was to litterally cut him out of my life or wash him out of my hair as I washed black and pink in!)

I have had wars with wisps of hair that tickled my forehead on a hot summer day and I'd freak thinking it's a bug. (The few times I resisted the temptation, there was a bug, so I have to swat and tug at it!)

My willingness to do anything with my hair has let me be a hair model for shows where young stylists have gone hog wild.

The fabulous hair growth during pregnancy (and all the warnings not to color and perm), followed by the hair losses as well.

Motherhood brought 'the mommie knot'. No time to create the dramatic up-do, a clip and 'the mommie knot' will have to do. No time to blowdry and curl it, 'the mommie knot' will have to do.

And of course, dealing with greys -- they neither color nor style the same.

I continued to use my hair as a way to control my life. Not only did I transform myself in all the glamour and fantasy roles I wanted (complete with proper fashions and accessories to complete my costume), but whenever life was spinning in chaos with issues beyond by control, I turned to my hair and managed it to create a feeling of being Mistress of My Life.

Many times in the past 20 years in utter frustration I have uttered "I'm just going to shave it off."

Well, two weeks ago, I did.

Not bald. (I didn't want to imagine the itch of it growing back in, nor did I want to give stubble-burn when I have my head between hubby's legs.) But it's short. A buzz cut. Roughly 1/2 inch long, all over my noggin.

The results have been amazing. The ease of care is beyond belief. It's literally wash and go. And wake-up and go. It's everything I hoped it would be!

Because, yes, there is one thing I didn't think of -- no, make that two things.

While I did think of the nightmare of growing it back in (and I have no desire to think about that yet in terms of awkwardness nor desire to have 'real hair' to style etc), I didn't think of a few things.

Number one, hubby can no longer grab a handful of hair during doggie or wind it around his wrist and pull me towards him for a wicked embrace. That is a damn pity. (However, he has other weapons of seduction at his disposal!)

Number two, the reactions of others. No, not friends and family -- most of them think it rocks, silver patches and all. It's the reactions of 'others', of 'strangers' that is surprising.

Ladies, you know how when you venture out into the world, how men everywhere give you the eye? It's not always as obvious or obnoxious as in a bar, but it's there... That look, those smiles (sometimes a naughty message in the eyes), looking away quickly when your man puts his arm around you... All of this has stopped. Dead. Since the day I left my house with my shaved head.

The best way to put it is this: In a world of hair, the shaven are viewed as less sexy. At least for the straight folks.

On one hand it makes sense, hair is considered part of health and a man will unconsciously be aroused by potential breeders. But on the other hand, well, damnit, I still have a pretty face, my rack and a decent ass!

The situation of my hair, or lack thereof, has brought to my attention that hair on a woman is a calling card for femininity and sex. Not just the classic giggle-hair-flip combination, nor the silent message of fertility, or even it's fashion statement (I do still struggle with fashion and accessories and what they 'say' with this head of mine), but it's an expectation of 'woman.'

I think I can understand the trauma for women with cancer to loose their hair -- especially as this was not a choice. Hair is a generous part of female definition.

Some may even see me and believe I have cancer or some other health problem, for what woman would do this? I mean, I'm no Natalie Portman and this isn't a movie. I must be either some sort of millitant person, a lesbian and therefore off limits to men, a tad crazy, or all of the above. Same reaction, or really the lack of one.

After I noticed this phenomenon of non-reaction to my sexual self (which grossly exaggerated my aging issues, let me tell you!), I sat and pondered on the reactions. Both theirs and mine.

While it is understandable that human males would have an unconscious reaction to my visual presentation which would alter their responses to me, I should just be able to write it off. After all, I'm a grown up, and I made the choice to do this. And I know that I am no less sexy than before, right? But a funny thing happens when the usual high level desire for you is thrown down to zero -- even when that attention is from folks you'd never accept offers from and you adore that your husband desires you and shows it with great passion -- You loose a bit of your identity.

I've thought about how the lack of (unwanted) attention, and how it makes me feel, and I've come to realize, that my vanity needed to be as liberated as my sense of duty to my hair. Self-identification does have a large basis in how others identify you. It's how we find our way in the world. But it's dangerous to let the world view of you become your view of yourself.

It's time I come to terms with the change in sexual attention. I'm not in my 20's, nor even my 30's and while my sex drive is high, my needs are met at home -- all of them (love, sex and friendship). And why should I need or miss outside validation of what I already know? I'm a hot, sexy woman. Self-acceptance, and the horniness of my lover husband, are all I need. Lady Godiva has nothing on me, for I'd not hide behind my hair riding naked down the street.

So, thank you hair, for all you've done -- for staying with me as long as you did while I tortured you at every turn of the curling wand and all the other procedures and processes. The severe limitations on your length have finally shown me the way to the lengths of true liberation.