New ‘Do

I used to cry when I got my hair cut. I hated it. I was so picky about it, and the hairdresser that my mom took me to never quite could do it just like I asked. One time, my friend tried giving me a trim while we were at her dad’s house, and she ended up taking two inches off. It was honestly nothing, my hair was already long so it wasn’t a big deal. I doubt anyone would have noticed. But I cried.

I’m not sure when I got over that. Once, I dyed the tips of my hair black, and once it had started fading I cut it off myself. My hair was a few inches longer than shoulder length then. But it didn’t bother me so much then.

The real time I noticed the change, it was a post breakup haircut. I had been thinking on it for weeks, months. I had scissors ready, and a box of auburn hair dye. All I needed was the courage. Luckily I found that at the bottom of a bottle of wine. I had some friends over. I put my hair in a low ponytail, tight to the back of my neck, and just started cutting with strong construction paper scissors. It felt so free, so liberating.

Now I think I’ve made it a tradition. Every year or two, I cut my hair off. I don’t plan it usually. I just let it grow - I still love long hair- until one day it’s driving me crazy and I know it’s time to chop it off. I usually decide while I’m drinking. That sounds risky, but it has worked out pretty well.

However, this last time I did it while I was sober. It took me three times, each time it has felt too long still. First I took of five inches. Then three more. Then about two more. I think I might keep it for now, it’s just shorter than my shoulders and mostly off my neck. Longer in the front than in the back. A friend helped me catch the wild strands that managed to dodge the blades.

Since I cut my hair, the number of times strangers have told me I’m beautiful has noticeably increased. Either that, or maybe I’m more aware of it because I’m sensitive to my new haircut. At least there’s glowing reviews, despite the uneveness of it. I’m too stubborn to go to a salon to get it fixed - I take pride in my DIY haircuts, as messy as they might be. Friends help me even out the choppy parts.

The other night, on my way home from getting drinks with some friends, the strangest thing happened. I was close to my house, walking on the main street about to turn and cross the street to head down the sandy side road. I noticed a car parked across the street as I was walking up, a man honked once and waved out his window, I squinted at him, trying to figure out if it was someone I knew or not. I decided not, since it was 3 in the morning and if I knew someone they would have called me by name. I crossed the street hurriedly, and luckily saw my friend Mamadou sitting in front of the Cosmetica shop. I glanced back and saw the man in the car get out and run across the three lanes of traffic towards me. I didn’t want to be caught in the dark road by myself with some strange man following me, so I stood by Mamadou and asked him to help me because I didn’t know the man.

The first thing the man says is, ‘Je t’aime, tu est très belle’ - I love you, you’re beautiful. I think my first response was ’no’. Just no. Not a chance, it’s three in the morning and you’ve just scared the shit out of me. He tried asking for my number, asked if he could take me on a date. No sir… not a chance am I giving my number to someone who tried following me in a dark alley at 3am. I wonder what grabbed his attention though… probably the obvious, the exotic pale skin and blonde hair (exotic for my current location, at least). It’s never happened before though… it must have been the hair.

5 January 2019