emmanation

So I have a bunch of hair now.

I say that like it happened overnight. It didn’t. I cut it off two years ago:

When I cut it, I had this whole big thing about whether or not it made me less attractive. (In short (get it? short?) – yes, it did.)

For the last year though, every time I get it trimmed or think about getting it trimmed or walk past a salon or a building that looks like a salon, I’m all ‘I wanna cut off my haiiirrrrrrr’.

Every time I say that, Crockett says ‘ok’. And looks sad.

For six months or so, I’ve been pretending that sad look is the reason I’m not cutting it off. He loves my hair, even when it’s in the shower drain or in his nose while he sleeps. I told myself that I was keeping it long for him. He has to look at me more than I do, so he should have a say in the matter. Blah didie blah.

I was going to write out all my complaints about it, but I figured out a shorter way to get them across: I have the exact same problems that every woman with more than six inches of hair has.

It’s hot. It takes a long time to clean, to moisturize, to dry, to style. (As if I style. Ha. Queen B once told me that no professional woman should come to work with wet hair. As I am no longer professional, I no longer consider that piece of advice as relevant to me.) It dries out, etc, etc.

I’m not honestly sure why we ever grow our hair out. Is it as simple as the men around us loving it and us being considerate about their preferences? Is it so strongly associated with femininity that we just accept it? To say that most women make the choice to have long hair independent of societal pressure is to be wrong, I’m completely sure about that.

There was an article on Jezebel a little bit ago titled How Hair Extensions Made Me A Casual Sex Goddess. The author comes right out and says:

You’re kidding yourself if you don’t acknowledge that your hair communicates a message to the world.

Can that be it? Do we grow our hair long because to not grow it long is sending a message of some kind? Does it say that we don’t care about our looks, or that we’re not good in bed, or that we (gasp) prefer to sleep with women?

Here’s the revelation I recently had about my hair. I freely (and a little ashamedly) admit that keep it long for Crockett, and I keep it long because I am a college student who works, works out, and showers at odd hours of the day. Long hair that’s due a wash is more manageable than it’s short sister, by virtue of the taming power of hair bands and barrettes. I also can’t afford a nice haircut more than once a semester.

I keep it long because I’m lazy, broke, and because my boyfriend thinks it’s pretty.

Once I figured that out, I was able to stop moaning about cutting it.

When school is over and I’m back in the world of paychecks and predictable schedules, though, all bets are off.