It's Just Hair

Last month I shaved off all 18 inches of my beautiful red hair and sold it for money.  Originally I was just going to sell 14 inches for $500, but when the buyer offered $1000 for me to shave my head I said, "What the hell.  I'll do it." It all happened so fast.  I cut it all off that very night before I could change my mind.  "It's just hair."  I kept telling myself.  "It will grow back."

The day after I posted a picture of my newly shaved head on Facebook and received an overwhelming response.  190 likes and 58 comments.  Some of them were even from famous authors and illustrators whom I stalk including: Vanessa Newton, Patricia Hruby Powell, Lita Judge, Debora Underwood, Diana Aston and Sharon Lovejoy.  It is by far the most popular facebook post I have ever made.  

It turns out that shaving your head can be a really fun social experiment.  I've always received a lot of compliments from strangers about my long red hair, but I received even more after I shaved it all off!  It was fun to come in to work at the library and watch my coworkers do double takes.  One of them said, "I forgot to wear my tie today, but you forgot to wear your hair!"  My boss kept saying.  "I'm not used to it.  I'm still not used to it."  Patrons at the library tend to stare at me more, especially children (probably trying to decipher whether I'm a boy or a girl.)

I was surprised by how supportive my husband has been through the whole thing.  He immediately accepted my decision and even shaved my head for me.  He jokes around and says I look like a boy, but it is clear he still finds me attractive and makes me feel beautiful.

This whole thing has certainly been a roller coaster full of ups and downs.  Some days I feel sexy, but there are many days I miss my long hair (especially now that my current look is an awkward buzz cut).  However, I never regret my decision.  It's just hair after all. The experience has been so eye opening and unique.  If I could go back in time I would do it all over again.

Here is a poem I wrote about my own reaction when I first cut my hair.

A New Haircut

Shorn.
That was the word that came to mind
As the hair clippers moved repeatedly

across my vulnerable scalp.

Shorn.
It sounded so harsh,

a word you might use to describe
Nazis shaving the heads
of their Holocaust victims.

Shorn.
Fistfuls of thick red hair
tumbled to the kitchen floor
in graceful spirals,
leaving my head
cold,
bare,
naked.

I looked at the 18 inches of hair on the floor,
then looked in the mirror.

Staring in to my reflection
I did not think,
Shorn.
I did not think,
Victim.
I did not think,
Eww.

I thought,

Strong.

I thought,

independent.

I thought,

attractive.

It’s nice to know that it was not my hair that made me beautiful.
It was me all along.