This one’s for Kate.
From Mimi Nguyen’s piece Me and My Hair Trauma.
The essay begins -
Hair’s been on my mind.
Earlier today I stood in front of the bathroom cabinet mirror, sewing scissors in hand. I was having hair trauma. (I have hair trauma a lot.) Taking inventory, I glanced down. Sitting on the back of the toilet were the following instruments (of varying degrees) of follicle torture: Royal Crown hair gel. Pantene hair spray. A tortoise shell clip. Ponytail ties. Bobby pins. A year-old plastic container of “Apple Green” Manic Panic hair dye. A blow-dryer/curler. Clippers. Bleach conditioner. A comb.
Standing in my underwear I imagined the possibilities: braids, french twists, a bun, two hair buns (a la anime girlies), the “wet” look, shaved, curled, ponytail, pompadour, mohawk, bihawk, streaks, “Glamour Shots” big hair, gang-girl big hair, buzz cut, mullet, beehive, haute couture. This is the essence of my hair trauma. I got dizzy thinking about it and left well enough alone.
And ends -
Which hair politic do you follow?
I hate the white avant-garde.
I hate my hair trauma, but not nearly as much.
These days I am thinking of chopping off most of my hair and bleaching it white. Again.
I never said my hair would start a revolution.
Can you really grasp my political agenda, my psychological state of mind, from my style choices?
Comments are working again!
I’m having hair trauma because I missed a hairdresser’s appointment and hate having to make excuses for such slackness so my hair is too long!
Can you really grasp my political agenda, my psychological state of mind, from my style choices?
Afraid not. Or maybe just afraid.
Terrified, actually.
Hairdresser friend has lined me up to hair model on Tuesday so expect a hair update Tues. evening. (Why is it that my hair has attracted more comments than my controversial and heartfelt exploration of abortion?)
This is a Fight Club moment for me. I am not my hair. I am not my shoes. I am not my clothes. And yet. And yet…
I’m an infrequent visitor to the barber. I get it cut short, then wait until it’s in front of my eyes before I get it cut again. I always say I’ll go more often, but do I ever change? Of course not. I had my hair chopped on Friday, though — job interview tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Good luck, Rob!
Indeed, Rob! Good luck.
ok, that post went right over my hairline
Walking around today I noticed that there are actually shops around Sydney which sell hair straightening services! (presumably for Caucasians). And back in Malaysia there were shops offering perming services to make hair curlier … Amazing.
In related news my hair strategy is a bit like Rob’s. I actually prefer long hair and wear it as long as I can until it gets uncomfortable. Yesterday I had my hair cut and I actually found a $10 barber who knew how to cut my troublesomely straight hair which, if cut too shorts, gets all spiky and stands up like a porcupines. Past barbers didn’t know just when to stop so I’d have to endure a week’s bad hair days until it grew long enough to look alright again. But this guy actually knew when to stop.
Best of luck with the job, Rob - is that the one you told me about in an email?
I like longer hair too, but no-one seems to agree it looks good on me so I usually succumb to pressure.
And I’ve found that the quality of the haircut is pretty well correlated with the price.
Jason, when my sister was living in Japan, she reckoned that she could never get a good haircut!
Hair is quite unnecessary. Give me a nice $10 one-blade and I shall move mountains.
I’m like Rob. Although sometimes anything from no 2s to no 4s seems fine to me as opposed to fancy stuff.
Hope the interview goes well for you dude (and some time I should also publically congratulate you - as many others have - for the excellent IR coverage on your blog)
Whoah 6th wicket down (perhaps I will be eating my words)
I was never happier than when I had my head totally shaved for a year or two in uni. Got alot of attention in pubs too, sadly from the wrong gender for me but beggars, choosers etc. Rather let it run to seed of late but everytime I think about it I come up with better ways to spend the eighty bucks.
In year 11 I had one of my friends close-shave my head. One of those things you do when you’re young and it’s really hot in the summer and your public school has no air conditioning, you know.
As it happens, I have a very oddly shaped noggin under the hair—a phrenologist’s delight. I’ll never do it again. Let this be a warning to those of you considering crew cuts!
I too suspect I would not look good with a shaven head. I had very long hair for a while but had it chopped all off last year. I’m never going back.
Bad hair? Pfft, tell me about it.
My revisits to the barber started after I made a clean shaven stripe across my head when the #3 attachment on my trimmer fell off. I do like my barbershop. It’s called the Men’s Room, has a large assortment of manly mags, a Galaga game, and there’s quality banter about bikes and stuff. This half hour burst of intense manliness keeps me going until I’m unable to do anything with my hair again.
Goos luck Rob!
Best of luck, Rob. I have no doubt you’ll ace it.
Re hairy politics, my husbang has shaved his baldy head for years. (Fortunately he has a well shaped head.) Lately, due to laziness he has let it grow longer than I’ve ever seen it - about two centimetres - and grown a lovely beard. He was a bit unsure for a while, and made me promise he didn’t look like a member of the Democrats. He could tolerate Green, but never Democrat.
Bald.
Solar panel for sex machine.
Deal.
Naomi: yes, as a matter of fact, it is.
My cranium is the Gillespie of skulls. It’s pretty ordinary at the front, but at the back it’s a bumpy bulbous freak show.
My crew cut was more Uncle Fester than Sinead O’Connor. Thankfully there’s not much pattern baldness in my family, or I might consider becoming a Lubavitcher.
I first became aware of this issue of differing craniums and the absence of hair at Uni when a friend shaved her head and I fell instantly in love with her for her perfectly shaped cranium.
Now that I’m remembering, her name is Sally. No idea where she went after Uni - probly back to Melb. But I’ll never forget - whenever I think of her - about the sunlight hitting a perfectly shaped shaved cranium on the Dutton Park ferry one late afternoon heading home from Uni… Sigh…
I’m actually very conservative when it comes to hair - have stuck to the same style more or less since 96… (see gravvy).