Even in the loveliest of long-term relationships, there are moments of doubt, little whispers that hiss through the tiniest cracks in what seems like the strongest foundation. Somehow, they find their way through at the most benign moments. I had one of those on Monday. Scott and I were having dinner, when he said, “Did you think about your hair today?”
I paused, shaken. Dude, it’s like you don’t even know me.
“Um, yes. Of course.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I can’t remember how I responded. There may have been snarling, possibly profanity. I had spent the weekend complaining about my hair. Earlier in the summer, I decided I was going to let it grow long again, under the pretense of one last shot at long hair before I am too old for it. The longest parts are just long enough that the curl has really started to come back, which also means that the unpredictability has started to come back, and how I look when I walk out the door with my hair still wet could potentially be very, very different from how I’ll look an hour or three hours later, often disastrously so. (Many years ago, a co-worker told me he could tell time by the size of my hair. I may not have ever recovered.) I have been rehearsing how I’ll be less uptight about the whole thing this time, but the reality is that the mere fact that I have to think about my hair at all pisses me off. There are so many other ways I want to use my brain.
So, the idea has been to grow it back out before I’m too old, but it also occurred to me today that I could make the same argument about wearing it short – I should enjoy wearing it short and kicky and fun before short becomes matronly. Either way, fuck old. I come from a long line of women who get more attractive as they age, and I have no plans to break that streak.
This is why monks shave their heads. Who the hell can get anything done like this?
It’s such an attachment. Now that the curl is back -at a whopping 3.25 inches- I feel like I have an obligation to it. It is absurd. How did guilt get so wrapped up in this? It is probably something worth exploring before I go for my next haircut, so I can simply enjoy whatever I decide to do.
Again, this is why monks shave their heads.
But wait! This is a Brave New Wednesday post, right? Well, guess what. Something new -and hair related- definitely happened today, and it is taking some bravery to acknowledge. I don’t really want to talk about it, but you can draw your own inferences from this video of my favorite blues performers. And also, fuck old.

































