Rapunzel, Rapunzel, I have Short Hair

I feel most feminine with short hair. I feel free, liberated, lightweight and energetic. Beautiful and enchanting. Yet, it has been something I have had to always justify to others. Current society still does not overall welcome shorter hairstyles on young women, even after many movements and fashion trends towards them. Even after the short hair of the 1920's and the many tomboyish trends in fashion. I cannot have short hair without someone eventually commenting on 'if it was long'.

In my family, long hair is associated with being feminine and attractive. There is a lot of traditionalism rooted in my family, and it has always roared loudly in relation to hair. As a child, I had so many conversations with elder members of my family, especially my father, trying to convince me to grow my hair longer. Trying to plead the case. They would lather on compliments.

"Your hair texture is so pretty when it's longer." "You have nice thick hair for growing it out." "You have your mothers dark hair, it looks so nice when you grow it."

Dread formed over anyone mentioning my hair. Was it not pretty when it was short? Was it not still a nice texture and color? Was I not still beautiful? Thankfully, the world gifted me with spade of arrogance and confidence and I decided the answers were that their opinion was wrong, and they were blind.

At first my mother and I were at war over my hair length. She cut my hair, so had complete control over when it got cut. Or so she thought. My fight for short hair started before I was in first grade. Like many kids, I took scissors to my own hair. But, I recall that each time occurred after my mother refused to cut it. After getting spanked for this, I got more creative. I purposely ground gum into it one afternoon. Another time, I got tar in it. I wrapped putty into it. I would brush paint into it. Grind tangles into it. And each mess had to be cut free, resulting in a hair cut much shorter than my mother intended.

I think my mom realized early on that it was something that would never change about me. She would remark about how I would not brush or upkeep it anyway to others, so it minus well be short.

I was warned, cautioned I would look like a boy. Look too masculine. And, in college after my first true pixie cut, I did get mistaken for a man. But, only ever by women. Simply put, I have a feminine face and the "Mitchon butt" so many of the women in my family joke about. Even in men's clothing, there is no mistaking my gender.

To this day, when it appears I won't be cutting it for a while, I get more compliments. Much to my annoyance. And, for the longest time, the length of my hair was a topic at every family gathering. This eventually stopped, and I suspect my mother had something to do with it. Either that, or my family realized that every time they told me they liked my hair length, I promptly cut it shorter.

I grew to loathe that having my hair how I preferred it meant that there were certain conversations I would have to partake in again, and again. For a while anxiety formed around family trips or meeting new people. My hair would be the first topic in many circles simply because it was short. Later once fashion colors were added to the mix, this got even worse. Everyone had an opinion about MY hair, and they needed me to know how THEY felt about it.

"Well why would you cut it short?"

"Have you had it this short before?"

"Do you like it?"

Or make remarks like, "Wow, you're brave."

"I could never, I'm afraid I would look like a boy."

"You look too smart for blue hair."

Or during a discussion, "Your opinion isn't valid because your hair is pink."

But, that did not discourage or change what I did to my hair. It encouraged it. Should someone, even an innocent stranger, say they like my hair long or mention anything in relation to length, I find my hands yearning for scissors. And, if it is said with willful intent to encourage me to leave it long, my hands find the scissors.

A lot of people look for some deeper meaning in my hair cut and color choices. Some sharp statement I am trying to announce with my hair. There must be some childhood trauma that caused it. Some political ideology that forges it. After all, why would I willingly make myself 'less feminine'.

But there is no deeper meaning. My hair is just an expression of me. I simply like short hair. I like it on myself the same way my favorite color is green. I enjoy wild colors the same way one enjoys different colored shoes or outfits. It's just me. It's just what I like. It's just how I feel. And, I happen to be comfortable expressing myself how it feels best.

But, there is unintended pain from my childhood. There is still frustration with living in a society that defines hair so sharply for the sake of Western ideals. It's just hair. And, I would have liked if it could have treated as such.