Yesterday I had my hair cut, and I chopped off several inches. I had been growing it for a number of months, mainly because I hadn't done that in a while and I was trying to save some haircut money. For a long time, my identity (or maybe my strength) came from my very long hair. It was the one thing I always knew looked good, even when I felt fat and ugly. Here is where I started to grow out my hair in 8th grade (I am now using my new photo scanner, but I may not be doing it perfectly.):
Soon I began to grow out my bangs, which was the thing for the "alternative" kids to do. Not having your hair all one length, but have really long bangs, to hide the gloom on your face. Or to accentuate it.
Eventually my bangs and hair got really, really long. And that was my thing. My really long hair. Enjoy it in this picture of me, my sister, and some backyard zebras.
The next year, I went off to college and began feeling liberated. The summer after my junior year, I moved to New York City to intern on "The Adventures of Pete and Pete." There I had stripes bleached into my hair that I colored with various colors whenever they faded. Here's me with Little Pete and some pink stripes:
And here's another picture of me from the P&P days, which has nothing to do with my hair and everything to do with me sitting on Iggy Pop's lap. But where is Iggy? Why did the camera make a white line through him?! This was before digital. My only picture with him, of course.
I soon tired of the stripes and their maintenance and began chopping them out of my hair. Eventually, I gave up on the long hair and went shorter. I had no idea my hair would get so curly.
And here's another one with me and Cheryl, showing my love for the ponytail. I'm still a fan. Note that I'm wearing my favorite pink Docs (where ARE they now?) and child-sized, purple velvet overalls.
This next picture has nothing to do with my hair, but it came from the same year, the year I got my beloved cat, Tobin (who I still have at 14 years-old). Here he is as a baby climbing my Monkees cutout in my bedroom. Where the heck did that go? How did I lose track of a giant thing like that?
That same year, I cut more off my hair. And then more. Here is a picture with two girls I worked with at Four Star Video Heaven in Madison, WI, after we chopped off my hair:
After that, I moved to Australia. Super cute short hair:
Next came the growing out phase. Here is me with my friends Liz and Nissa, on our way to karaoke (this was probably 12 years ago):
Fast forward to more growing out, more cutting, and a variety of chin-shoulder length cuts over the last ten years. I could show you a picture of my current haircut, but I don't even know what it looks like since I always get it straightened when I get it cut and I haven't showered yet. Does it even matter anymore? Is it because I am older that I don't care as much? Is it because I have been through hair and back and don't feel as much of an attachment or grip from my hair as I once did? The new book I'm writing has a lot of hair talk, and it's bringing back a lot of hair memories. It was fun to explore the varieties of hair I did in life. Maybe someday, I'll shave it off or buzz a mohawk. I haven't done either of those yet. Or maybe I'll just keep going to the salon to get it cut as I do. Because my favorite part nowadays is getting my hair washed.