The Long and The Short of It
Posted: Friday, June 13, 2008
by Dianne Lehmann
Artisan Jewelry from SyZyGy
Hair. So much of my identity was, at one time, tied up in my hair. I'm not entirely sure that is no longer true. But I hope that it is not.
For most of my childhood, I had what could be considered long hair. When I was eleven years old, I decided I wanted to have my hair cut. There was this style called the "bubble" and I was dead set on it. It was the rage. For me, it just screamed "grown up."
It was kind of exciting. First they washed your hair and wrapped a big white towel around your head. Then they sat you in the chair and put a drape over you. Then they just nonchalantly cut off all your long hair. There was no regret, it was what I wanted.
The cutting completed it was time to move onto the setting of curlers. That's when the doubts began to set in. In order to maintain the "look," I was going to have to sleep on curlers every night. But when the boy next door first saw my new "do" and his only comment was a deeply satisfying "wow", it seemed it was all worth it.
Time went by, the curlers became annoying and besides, I never could get it to look as good as it did the first time I left the beauty salon. I didn't really like ratting my hair. And so around age 12 and a half, I started to let it grow out. I went through what were, in hindsight, some pretty horrendous hairdos until it grew so long that styling it was not an issue. No. At that point, it had become an identity. I was the girl with the really long hair.
Once, before Bernd and I were married, we were at Knott's Berry Farm. I had put my hair into one single braid at the nape of my neck to keep it out of my way. We were enjoying ourselves and had stopped walking to discuss what we should do next. We were both facing the same direction, so we were both equally surprised when my head was jerked violently backward. I turned around and there was a woman standing there with my braid in her hand. Her family was a little way back and looking very embarrassed. She looked sheepishly at me and said, "I was sure it would come off." Apparently, my hair was unbelievably long and it was made even less so because it was so thick right down to the ends. I was annoyed and gratified at the same time; I was special, or so I thought.
Over the years the length of my hair came to define who I was. I couldn't conceive of who I would be if I were to cut it off and yet I was desperately tired of dealing with it. And for the most part I had taken to wearing it in a coronet braid to more evenly distribute the weight of it on my head so it wasn't even readily apparent just how long it was. It reached well below my calves, but not quite all the way to my ankles.
I literally agonized over the issue for years; I'm going to cut it, no, I can't cut it; I'm going to cut it. On and on. I would have nightmares in which an unknown someone would cut off all my hair. Finally at the age of 32, I decided to just do it. And I was going to get a permanent wave at the same time, only now they just called them "perms." My sister suggested her stylist and I made the appointment after carefully making it clear what she would be undertaking and the distress it would likely cause me. When she actually laid eyes on me and my hair, she almost backed out. I didn't blame her. I was a wreck. I had already been crying all the way to the salon. A friend from where I was working at that time drove me there and back home and that was a good thing.
The stylist made a braid that started at about my shoulders and asked me if I was sure. That so did not help with what I was feeling and by that time everyone in the shop, employee and customer alike, were watching and waiting to see what would happen next. I told her that I was sure and to start cutting. It was a lot of hair to cut through and it took a while. When the last bit was cut loose and my hair swung forward all in a rush to the front and over my shoulders, I gasped. The stylist started to say it was what I said I wanted and I had to explainI wasn't upset, I just had no idea how much hair I really had. It was amazingly thick. Still, I pretty much cried throughout the whole thing.
I almost got the look I wanted along with a perm. I had searched through all the books of styles and couldn't find one that matched what I had in my head. The stylist did the best she could. Now, what was Bernd going to think? I shouldn't have worried about that.
I spent the next few weeks in a state of hyper anxiety. What would my friends think (all but one liked it)? Did it look good? I was relieved. No more eight long hours for it to dry after washing it. I could wash it whenever I wanted. I didn't have to be careful not to get it dirty because I could only afford the time to wash it once a week. I was liberated and yet, I was lost. Who was I without it? What was my merit? How would I set myself apart from the crowd? Was I no longer special? And I have to be special, don't I?
I couldn't keep my hands off of it. I had to reassure myself it was still there. It was so light (I lost five pounds the day I cut my hair) that I walked around looking at the ground and didn't even know that I was doing that until Bernd pointed it out to me. I no longer had to compensate for the weight of it pulling at the back of my head. I had fewer headaches and still I wondered if I had done the right thing.
Over the years the style changed, the perm was dropped and it just kept getting shorter and shorter to where it is today. I cut my own hair, now, with the help of my husband. The thing is, I am not my hair. I am not the clothes I wear or the people with whom I associate. I am not the car I drive or the house I live in. But occasionally, I will have a dream in which my hair is very long and I don't know what to do about it. So I wonder from time to time, have I really outgrown my hair as identity problem, or am I now the woman with the cute short hair?
From time to time, I think about shaving it all off; as if that might solve my dilemma. But then would I just become the woman who dared to shave off all her hair? It's a conundrum. For me, at the root of all this is the need to be special. On the surface, I believe that I have tossed that notion along with the one that says I will never age. The gray in my hair puts the lie to the latter. But I can't be sure and that is my problem. I will most likely never be sure. The "things" (hair, youth, jobs, cars) of this world are not constant and when we identity ourselves with "things," we set ourselves up for disappointment and unhappiness. But at least I am aware and that is half the battle.
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Top-level comments on this article: (5 total)"The "things" (hair, youth, jobs, cars) of this world are not constant and when we identify ourselves with "things," we set ourselves up for disappointment and unhappiness. But at least I am aware and that is half the battle." How true this is, Dianne. I can relate to this. My first anxiety attack was over my hair. I don't have anxiety attacks! Mine went from long to short over a lunch break. I finally let it grow out again and went blond. That caused the attack. I enjoyed this article and didn't know it would be about hair! Well-written and beautifully told. Thank you!Hi Avis. Thanks for reading and thanks for the praise. I can't imagine deciding to go from long to short over a lunch break! I tried coloring my hair for a few years, but I went darker (black). It just seemed safer somehow as my hair is dark brown...not too big of a leap, so to speak. Thanks again.Hi Dianne. I decided that morning. While half asleep and curling my hair, I dropped the hot iron on my busom! That woke me up for sure! It took about a year for the scar to leave. I did not need to curl a crew-cut! *laughing* Have a great weekend!
Yeah I very much agree. People always try so hard to be outwardly happy, but it is within that true pride and happiness comes from. A person has to first believe it in themselves and feel content with their own image. I found your article very interesting and made me think of the hair changes I had during my school years, I even still today laugh about it. There was a time I even had this craze over Nicole Kidman's hair in Days of Thunder. I had my long hair all permed, it took so many tedious hours. It looked great but it took so much work to upkeep that i had it all cut off within a few months....Hi Stacey. Thank you for reading. Sometimes it seems to me that we obsess more about our hair than we do any other part of our appearance. People say they are having a "bad hair day," but you rarely hear "bad makeup day," "bad shave day," or "bad wardrobe day." At 55 years old, I no longer have bad hair days. It's short and it does what it wants and it's okay. Yeah! I can't imagine perming long hair. My hair when I first had it cut was at chin level and that perm took a lot of time. It's one of the reasons that it kept getting shorter and shorter. Thanks again, Dianne
hi dianne, what a neat story. i can't imagine you with hair almost to your calves. i always had long, thin, spaghetti hair until i was in my late 20's, I guess. it did nothing for me, as i notice when i see my graduation picture, but, i thought i was "cool." i am in the position right now of not knowing what to do with it, but i'll let it grow, and when i can afford it, i'll go to the "salon." i lucked out at the A & P and was able to get a bottle of dye for 2.49, and it's reddish, and i really like it. without dye, i'd bealmost all gray, which i don't see anything wrong with, but i like the red tone. thanks for sharing, best regards, sueSue, thanks for reading. I was wondering if I should have included a photo with the story, but in the end decided not to...that wasn't the point. I don't much like the gray in my hair, but it isn't so much yet that it shows up in my tiny photo. I tried auburn once. Boy, that was a bad decision. If you have the skin tones for red hair...go for it! Have fun! Dianne
Hi Diane, I didn't know whether I should laugh or cry. I can't imagine someone actually pulling on your hair, but I like that you included that in this story because it gave a good visual. I never thought I was the kind of person to worry about outward appearances, I didn't have to be "all made up" just to leave the house etc...But then I was sick for a very long time and my hair started to fall out on the top of my head!! Wow! That was a revelation. I cried and said okay, God I admit it, I need my hair, I'm too young for a wig! We all say it's better to be concerned with our inner beauty and its true, its just that its not always easy. Thanks for sharing--you are not alone.Hi Teresa. Thanks for reading! Yeah, it's a constant battle. I can't leave the house, even to go to the grocery store, without doing my hair and makeup (well, I can take a walk around the neighborhood). I have, however, pared it down to the basic minimum. Still I just don't feel right without even that much. I can't imagine how I might cope with having some of my hair fall out. I don't think that I would do a very good job of it. It's also not easy to look past the outer appearance of other people and sometimes my response shames me. I am in the process of building a website for the property owners association where I live. Part of that is building sponsor pages. On one, the sponsor wanted a photo of he and his wife. My first thought when looking at it was, "Boy, she should really pluck those eyebrows and maybe consider wearing bangs." She probably is a very nice person, but I was only thinking about how unattractive she appeared. So, I'm still working on it. Thanks for commenting, DianneHello again. Isn't a shame how easy it is for us to do this? Another great example of why I need God's grace in my life! God help us! He will certainly give us the opportunities to learn. Have great week!
Dianne, I loved this true story and the changes you covered in it.Thank you, Jane, for reading and commenting. I am glad that you enjoyed it.
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