Give Me a Head With Hair, Long Beautiful Hair: Part 2

Yes, I did it. The proof:

Here is the thing. I’ve tried writing this too many times, but have struggled. I have notes on my phone, word documents started and abandoned, and an online draft I keep messing with. I continue changing media in hopes that will spur some spark of clarity that drives my experience home in a pithy and concise way. But I am just a little stuck. So, I’m simply going to write without stopping and see where that leaves us (hopefully, both satisfied and entertained).

Why is it so hard to write about shaving my head?

Maybe it’s because of the volume of emotions and considerations that have arisen. Maybe it’s the fact that my femininity, queerness, identity, and security have all been both challenged and advanced. Maybe it’s that it’s a little too soon to draw conclusions (three days with this hair and roughly my entire life—minus a few hiccups—with my former hairstyle).

After I wrote the first blog post, I felt both fear and excitement surge. New considerations crashed in waves and then subsided as I received and contemplated them. I cycled through anxiety, trepidation, terror, anticipation, pride, eagerness, and more. Then, I gently reminded myself: it’s just hair.

But, I guess the truth is that this whole thing isn’t just hair for me. It is what I said above and probably even more. Hence, the difficulty in communicating it, let alone experiencing it.

That said, let’s do this.

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For the main event, we went to Joanne, Heather's hairdresser for more than a decade. And despite having Heather and Joanne by my side, I was still a little panicked. By the time I was alerted to my turn in the chair, my anxiety was insuppressible.

"Jackie, it's your turn."

Tears threatened--and then made good on their threats--in the corners of my eyes. But with the tears also came new strength and conviction. I really do want to do this. But it’s just the doing it that’s hard.

(God, Sheryl Crow, you are so magic.)

You may be surprised to learn that I didn’t get just one haircut on that day. I got four. There's a lot of ground you can cover between armpit-length hair and no hair, and I intended to cover it.

The Chic

The first was Joanne’s doing because she wanted me to have something sort of cool and stylish. I obliged because I was about to put her through some pretty terrible cuts.

Chic cut. Puffy eyes on account of the tears for fears.

Then, it was my agenda. I wanted three haircuts: a mullet, a nostalgic haircut, and the shave.

The Mullet

To Joanne’s tribute, she did a fantastic job, and actually made a mullet look wickedly sexy. There's something about growing up in the Midwest for me that made that feat seemingly impossible. But Joanne is a mf wizard. She made me into a real West Coast hipster here.

For Nostalgia

For the third cut, I couldn’t really abandon all my hair without creating material for my mother’s 2019 Christmas tree, could I?

Joanne had never heard of a crown perm. This is also to her tribute. If I had experienced trepidation before getting in the chair, it was all Joanne’s now. She is a rockstar of a hairdresser. And the fact that I asked for this horrible cut and style from her was against her very moral fiber. But, because she’s just so good, she executed it like no one else (but Cindy) could have.

And Mom, this little gem is going to be coming to a Christmas tree near you.

The timeless crown perm, then and now. Request your 2019 ornament today.

Unfortunately, all this fun took a little longer than my appointment, and Joanne had another client coming in. My shave would have to wait. So, what to do in the waiting period but to strike out into LA for a well-deserved lunch?

Living my best life in LA.

By the time we had returned and it was my turn for the chair one last time, I was so ready. (She could do nothing worse than leave me with the crown perm mock-up anyway.) No tears, just smiles and laughs.

In some ways, it’s been a total nonevent. I feel like the exact same me in 97% of the moments. I’m cherishing the free AC, the amazing sensation of rubbing my fuzzy head, the excitement and support of friends and family. I also like how it totally elevates my badass game. I don’t have much of one in truth, but now I can play one on TV.

In other ways, I’m getting used to the 3%. As much as I stand in the mirror relishing my apparent badassery, there are other times that I look with a sense of loss, and feelings of longing. Insecurity has paid a visit.

Regret, however, has not. Overall I am exceedingly glad. I went in with basically one objective: to see how something different would challenge me, teach me, and change me. Based on just three days of this, I know it’s already a success.

Also, I’ve already had a ton of fun with it.

That time I was working on a badass look.

That time I was in for x-rays and I took the opportunity to look like a mental patient.

That time I got to be an angel.