Today I spent 15 minutes in front of the mirror trying to cultivate a perfectly calculated messy bun. The messy bun is a whimsical hairstyle that most women (and some men, thank god) have--at some point--tested out. Its purpose is to make the woman beneath it look like she has just crawled from her bed, out of the sheets, and into the world without looking in the mirror. By virtue and token of its own self, its own moniker, the messy bun is messy. It's a hairstyle that's been defined and has a distinct style that really does take time. But again, it is the messy bun--messy. It is characterized by wisps of hair falling into the face, by pieces of the bun sticking out into the air, by the illusion that it could fall apart at any moment. It must be so perfectly imperfect; and it really is adorable.
I like to tell people that I just piled all of my hair onto the top of my head while rushing out of my apartment in the morning and wrapping a string around the embarrassing bird’s nest. I do the same thing with my cute outfits, my good grades, and even items I paid a lot of money for. When provoked I say I just threw on the first outfit I saw on my bedroom floor; it probably took almost an hour to perfect. If I get a good grade on a paper I tell people I wrote it in a sleepy panic the night before it was due; in reality I probably spent hours and hours on the title alone. When I have on an expensive dress and it receives a compliment, I say, “Oh this old thing? I found it on the sale rack at a thrift store!” Honestly, I’m too anxious and distracted to shop sale racks, it was probably full price and the fitting room attendant probably bullied me into buying it.
I don’t even think about these replies; they just pour out of me as though it is proper etiquette to make myself seem like the worst possible human being. And I’m not the only person who does this. It’s an informal cultural norm to belittle yourself and your work, to appear as so much smaller than you really are. This is never acknowledged, but if somebody were to compliment my pristine, but somehow disastrous messy bun and I told them it took so, so long to perfect, nobody would know how to react.
Women specifically do this because in America we are socialized to be docile, to be soft and passive, and to shrink down to fit into the world. And if we don’t do this, if we become large and shape the world to fit our needs, we’re ostracized by our peers. The strong women who take, and take, and take--the ones who do it confidently--are forever labeled as power-hungry bitches. They (we) are so independent that the average man will feel overwhelmed and unsuccessful around them (us) and the average woman knows to stay away. The American woman must be--like the messy bun--perfectly imperfect.
In my grandmother’s generation, and in her mother’s generation, this expectation raised healthy women. They were easily able to form an identity because they were comfortable letting men take care of them. Yesterday’s young woman was expected to be docile and soft, and today’s young woman who is breaking into adulthood is still expected to be docile and soft, but the expectation for young men has changed. After the panic of the 2008 financial crisis more people began going to college and the “good” jobs became less available, meaning young adults have been conditioned only to survive. Men no longer aim to support an entire family because they’re running in circles trying to support themselves. Women are also taught to be successful and to survive and to be financially independent. This produces a feeling of disequilibrium in young women. The frustration of such expectations, internally and externally, to become Wonder Woman rears adolescent girls who are anxious, confused, and hopeless.
According to Erik Erikson’s “Eight Stages of Psycho-social Development” the adolescent age range of 13 to 19 is characterized by the new concern of how one appears to others. This is called the “Identity vs. Role Confusion” stage and the role confusion can be overwhelming for today’s adolescent girls. They face mixed feelings about the ways in which they will fit into society. Suddenly bursting into adulthood, they are supposed to figure out exactly who they are and where their personas are headed. Conflicting instructions being thrown at them increases dissonance--these girls are, unknowingly, motivated to be strong and powerful, but are still treated as the lesser sex. If, in this period of time, the young woman is unable to form a solid self-concept she will face this disequilibrium for the rest of her life. The messy bun hairstyle effectively distinguishes the younger generation from any other in history. We defend ourselves by turning our imperfections into something perfect, and then we denigrate those imperfect perfections by turning them into something worthy of shame.
As I stare in the mirror at my flawless, confused, imperfect bun, I wonder where all of this leaves me. At 21 I’m (probably) past the point of adolescence, my identity is mostly solidified and I’m starting to figure out where I fit into the world; but I’m not yet an adult--I’m financially dependent on my parents, I have no career, and I’m still able to feel comfortable with the disasters I create for myself. I can’t define which stage of life I’m experiencing and I certainly can’t explain why it took me so long to perfect my messy bun. I guess I'm still trying to negotiate how I can keep growing into my world in a positive way while keeping my messy bun perfectly imperfect, which is all I really need right now.
