By Allie Volpe
I woke up this morning and it hit me: my hair is pretty long. I mean, it didn’t happen overnight, but I guess I didn’t notice it until now. Over the past two years my hair has gone from short, blonde and purple to shoulder length and red to now past-boob length, light brown hair (my natural hue).
This probably interests no one.
But everyone is interested in her own hair. Not even interested—invested. Both financially and emotionally invested. Ladies shell out hundreds of dollars a year for cuts, colors and blowouts, constantly on the path to having the shiniest, softest hair out of all her friends. And when someone compliments the protein filaments growing out of your head? Forget it. Day made.
So why are we as a gender so oddly obsessed with our hair? I hardly ever hear a man exuberantly tell another, “Ohmygosh, your hair is sooo long!” (Scratch that, I’ve never heard that exchange between men.) So why is it the ultimate compliment to tell a lady she’s got it going on in the hair department?
I suppose it could be the bio-psychological thing. Our caveman brains are programmed to find long hair attractive—it means a woman is more fertile and more fit than Cavewoman Sue With The Edgy Bob to carry your child. Thus, it makes sense when men claim they find a woman with longer hair more attractive. As someone who’s been on almost every level of the hair length spectrum, I’ve had male counterparts encourage me to grow my hair out when it was short, that they found me more desirable when my hair was long.
But we aren’t cavemen anymore and have found art in a pair of scissors. And the number of shorthaired ladies is on the rise. Celebrities from Emma Watson to Anne Hathaway and Michelle Williams have all chopped their locks and are more attractive than ever. Ah, but alas, when faced with the option of losing the mane, females fear looking “butch,” “unfeminine,” or “like a lesbian” without their hair.
I say screw it.
As cat ladies, have we ever been afraid of what others thought of us? We rock pajama chic, haute couture hermit and live the Law and Order: SVU marathon lifestyle. So who cares if the opposite sex doesn’t want to impregnate us just because our hair isn’t Rapunzel-length? I’m not looking for any babies in me anyway.
So—for now—my hair continues to be long because my cavewoman brain is really digging it but it won’t stay that way for long. I’m slowly building up the courage to do away with the security blanket growing out of my head and am excited to feel a weight lifted off my shoulders, literally.
I’m curious: what’s your hairstory? Let me know in the comments.
Oh, and here’s a song about hair.
