"Why would you do that?" "But your hair was so pretty before!" "What are you doing to yourself? You could look like a supermodel!" "But boys just like long hair." "Don't worry, you can always grow it out." "I liked the long hair better. You should grow it out again."
Sound familiar, short-haired ladies? I never really thought of my hair as a political or feminist statement or as an issue up for public debate. That was until I decided to take the plunge and ditch my long locks for a short and sweet pixie cut. After all, long hair was a hassle, and I was simply bored with it. I didn't think that anyone would really react to my haircut aside from the formalities of, "Awe, I like your new hair!" because they weren't the ones who were spending hours on straightening, curling and styling it every day. Surely, I do get kind comments such as these, but I have also received an unexpectedly large amount of criticisms.
My hair before:
I wasn't particularly hurt by their observations because I loved my daring new hairdo, but I was interested as to where their opinions came from. It seemed to solely be an issue of male pleasure and gender normification. Almost exclusively, these negative observations came from men disliking my new look or women reiterating men's perceived opinions on my look. The men spoke from a place of pure privilege. They felt entitled to request that I change my image to visually please them. It was not my personal preference or comfort that mattered to them, but rather my ability to mindlessly adapt to their standards. The women's comments were in accordance with this concept. They sought to warn me of what the general population of men would think of my hair and the repercussions that could follow. Of course, these comments were all made under the assumption that I sought to please men and that I was interested in attracting a male romantic partner. They also represented a larger problem with sexism in our culture.
My hair now (and the man who loves me with it!):
I assume that, subconsciously, every one of these reactions were fueled by a sense of unease because I did not adhere to a gender stereotype in cutting my hair, and this is what fuels sexism. In not taking a path of least resistance, I disrupted their preconceived notions of what men and women look like and must do. I am clearly a woman, and I clearly have short hair. This is in contrast with what we have been taught as children, and this led to others feeling uncomfortable with my choice and suggesting I change it. A lot of what we have been taught about gender is unconscious, and this is largely how sexism operates. It is important, though, to recognize these issues of sexism, though, no matter how small, because in realizing the motives behind our actions, we can begin to change them.
More short hair:
The concept of women needing long hair is a minor gender norm, and there is nothing wrong with adhering to it. The issue lies in the way we treat those who deviate from the prescribed path. While they may not seem important, small issues (such as dictating how a woman must wear her hair), add up and symbolize something much greater. If a man I barely know can control my haircut, then what is there to stop a man from controlling my career choice, my reproductive rights or my choice of friends? This type of entitlement can easily spiral out of control and perpetuate a system in which men are dominant over women. Even something as simple as accepting a woman's choice of haircut can help aid a fight in gender equality and female autonomy. This is ultimately true because we have created the social constructs and oppressive systems we live under, therefore we have the power to change them. After all, our male-dominated society is so fragile that it can, apparently, be disrupted by a swift clip of scissors.
