So who are my Twitter fans? If you have been anywhere near my twitter posts, you've noticed my countdown. In case you missed what I've been counting down to, well to this weekend. At the stroke of Midnight this Saturday, I will be shaving my head.
That's right, I will be bald.
And I am excited. And I am terrified. I can't wait. I can't wait to get it over with. I am anxious in every sense of the term. I can't wait to see what I'll look like, and I can't wait to see what it will look like when it grows back in. This will be the first time in my life I've not had hair on my head. I'm serious; ask my mother, I was born with a full head of hair.
A lot of people have asked me why, and when I respond with “why not” they seem less than satisfied. To be honest, I’ve always been curious to see what’s lying underneath this big red mop. For some reason, that isn’t good enough; but now when I explain that I am shaving for my role in this year’s Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios Orlando, people seem to be more accepting. I don’t know why people find the idea that the decision is out of my hands so comforting, I wonder if it is because they would be too scared to do it themselves. Whatever the reason, my reasons for doing so always seem to end up becoming more and more involved. What was originally just an impulsive decision made from a vague curiosity has now become a deep, redefinition of my identity and understanding of my feminine self.
Hair is important to women. We pamper it, we talk to it, we have entire rituals and businesses devoted to it. “I can’t go out, I’m washing my hair.” A woman’s hair speaks in volumes about her; a short cut says sporty and defiant, long is glamorous and flirty, simple cuts say practical and forward thinking, even a simple wash and wear style says busy and low maintenance. Women develop relationships with their hair. I know I’ve had days where I felt my hair was rebelling and every time I threaten to cut it, it begins to cooperate. How the hair looks can determine the makeup and wardrobe choices of the day. The affect the weather is going to have on her hair can change all of a woman’s plans for the day. Throughout myth and lore, a woman’s hair often housed her magical powers or abilities. Women used to give her most prized possession, a lock of her hair, to her beau. There are charities specifically devoted to getting lush, realistic wigs to women undergoing medical traumas that result in hair loss. And to take away this icon is somehow disfiguring. Hair loss in men is something socially accepted, no one gives a bald man a second look, but a bald woman is a stigma. “There must be something wrong,” “She must be a lesbian,” “She must have mental issues.”
To be mentally fit, secure in my heterosexual identity and excessively healthy, I can’t help but wonder how people will react to me. I know people that know me will not be shocked because I am doing it; they just seem shocked that a woman is doing it. Fascinating how the people who know me separate my core personality from my status as a woman. And I know people who don’t know me will go through those assumptions (illness, be it physical or mental). What I will be curious to find out is how differently people will treat me on a subconscious level. I know I get away with a lot because I’m a cute red-head and I know I use this to my advantage. What I don’t know is how much this going to change. I may not be a “red head” but will I still be cute? Will it matter? Let’s be honest, we’re all more likely to respond better to the attractive, no matter what gender they are. It’s evolutionary physiology (or some other combination of big words meaning it’s in our nature). Will people still be so forgiving when I screw up, drop the ball, or generally flake? Do people respond to my beaming personality or flirty smile? I’ve always had an amazing ability to get away with a lot of crazy shit, will people be so amused when it’s the Sinead O’Conner wanna-be that’s doing it? With all this focus on looks, I am panic stricken at the idea of no longer having my hair to hide behind. My thick copper locks conceal my uneven ears, my bumpy forehead, and my mismatched eyebrows. What if on top of that I have a funny shaped head, or a dent? What if I have a huge, vaguely phallic birthmark??? It’s one thing to no longer be a red-head, I’ve experienced that through my various color phases, but if I’m not cute, what am I? Is confidence really that beautiful, as we are lead to believe in Cosmo and on Tyra, or are I confident BECAUSE I am beautiful? I feel confident that I can talk my way out of just about anything, but I’m pretty sure that smile and flick of the hair must help.
But scariest of all, what if nobody notices?
But for all this terror and fret, I am intrigued by what the next two months will hold. I will have to confront this new girl in the mirror and come to a new understanding of my self image. I will have to define what makes me feminine, find where glamorous truly lies. This experiment has so much potential to strip me of the insecurities that get swept up in sweeping bangs. I will have to learn to get passed the wall of obsessive reflection; a term I just made up, meaning that sensation of “They’re all going to notice” when in fact, everybody is too busy wondering the same thing to notice what you’re hoping they won’t notice. So stick with me for the next two months, if anything just for the morale support. I’ll be reporting on the progress of the experiment, all my little freak outs, and any startling revelations I come across! Plus pictures of my bald glory and updates from behind the scenes of one of the country’s best haunted events!
