Hair
My hair is long. Not freakishly Guiness Book long, but long enough, within a few inches of my waist.
My mother told me that middle-aged women should never have long hair because it makes them look either witchy or desperate to hold onto their youth. I have thought about that, and I’ve wondered if it’s time, or even past time, for me to cut mine.
My hair is complicated. For one thing, it is texturally bipolar; corkscrew curly underneath but straight on the top. I’ve never met anyone else with hair like mine. Hairdressers are stymied. The most they will dare to do is trim it a quarter of an inch and try to sell me their most expensive conditioner. Then, there’s the sad fact that I lack both the dexterity and attention span necessary to do anything other than put my hair in a ponytail. The thought of having to blow it dry, or flat iron it, or put product in it is so overwhelming that just running down that list makes me want to take a nap. I suppose I could have it permanently straightened, but not only is it expensive, I already insist that my hair repress its natural color. I refuse to burden it further by insisting it should also pretend that it’s straight.
Recently, several of my friends have gotten a cute haircut called the Posh, which I assume is after Victoria Beckham. It is cropped short at the nape of the neck and angled longer in front. It’s quite chic and those who have it look terrific. Personally, I would love this haircut, but I also know that if I got it, the curly hair underneath would Brillo out, lifting the straight hair until it rested horizontally atop it. At best, I would wind up looking like Gilda Radner’s SNL character from the eighties, Roseanne Rosanadana, and at worst, I would look like Sideshow Bob.
So, I’ve decided to keep my hair long. As quirky and random as it is, I actually like the way that it isn’t like anyone else’s. Long hair is also practical. My neck and shoulders stay toasty in the winter and in the summer if it gets too hot I exercise the ponytail option. Who knows? Maybe one of these days, if I get ambitious, I’ll learn how to braid it.
Anyway, the one thing my mother didn’t tell me when she was dispensing hair advice was that when you actually are a middle-aged woman with long hair and people think you look like a witch or someone who is trying too hard to look young, chances are pretty good that you have gained enough confidence and wisdom along the way that you no longer give a crap.