A couple of weeks ago, for the first time in my life, I cried about my hair. I went into the salon with a clear idea of what I wanted, and how I would feel walking downtown with my new do, hearing people stop and whisper “who’s that girl?” as I walked by. I left the salon silently cursing the hairdresser and kissing my dramatic starlet fantasy goodbye. I hated my hair and I hated even more that I was crying over it.
Friends have often told me stories about crying over their new haircuts after returning home with a few inches less than expected. I would always get a little annoyed at hearing this. I thought, I would never cry over something as superficial as hair. I thought, it’ll grow back. I thought, it’s just hair.
I’m not sure how I went so long without acknowledging the beauty standards that rule women’s hair, because there are a lot of them. When I was younger, I had shiny, straight blonde hair. Photoshop a pair of blue eyes on me and you could’ve sold stock photos with the description “wholesome, white, American girl.”
Around fifth grade my hair started getting darker, curlier and frizzier. In the same proportions, my bathroom counter started to overflow with products and straighteners I would use to try to get back to that America’s sweetheart look. Sometime in middle school, the three year long peak of awkwardness and insecurity, perms came back in style. I started to love my natural hair because everyone else started to love it too.
The natural occurrence of hair, however, is rarely accepted. This goes beyond straight-haired girls wanting curly hair and curly haired girls wanting straight hair. Never being satisfied with the way you look is a trait every woman learns.
We learn that our hair is unnatural and undesirable. We learn to straighten, shave, laser and cut. But we don’t cut it too short for fear of being called the dreaded “L-word.” Because some game of telephone spread the rumor that hair length is associated with sexuality and no one ever cleared up the confusion. It was probably started by the same guy who told everyone that women aren’t supposed to have hair on their legs, under their arms or under their pants.
So women are taught to be like marble sculptures in art museums: smooth, silent and there for everyone else’s viewing. We are taught to hate our hair unless we do something to fix it.
After reading an essay from Bad Feminist for class, we started talking about hair in terms of feminism. All of the girls in my class who consider themselves feminists had experienced the same internal conflict. We vocalized our concern: does shaving make you anti-feminist?
I shave because I like the way it makes me feel, but I’m not so naïve as to think that I came to this decision to shave on my own. Inherently, I shave because society taught me to, but I continue shaving because it’s my preference. Smooth legs make me feel good but it also makes me feel good to see women with pastel-dyed hair under their arms. It makes me feel good to see women who love their hair and women who love their lack of hair. It makes me feel good to see women making choices about their bodies.
After concluding this class discussion and reaching a consensus that we could all be feminists no matter our hair preferences, a guy in the class asked this question, “Is makeup still a problem for girls?”
Beauty standards are in no way thing of the past. Whether it’s hair, makeup, body weight, someone always has an opinion. This is what Beyoncé is talking about when she says pretty hurts. So just do whatever the hell you want with your body. Stop defining people by beauty standards and start working to define the future by choices.
