First of all, this post is in no way related to the LGBT community, that I have nothing but respect and compassion for.
Hair. It merely is a protein filament that grows from follicles of the skin or dermis. Grizzly, wavy, scant, thick, curly, poker straight, smooth, coarse… every person is blessed with a different type. As human beings, our relationship with the hair on our heads is fascinating. Some like to accessorise, some keep it minimal while others just experiment a little here and there like an in-built accessory that transforms their look. The bottomline is your hair changes the way you look, highlighting or exposing parts of your face.
So, I cut my hair. Short. Then some more and some more; till it became a neat, edgy little pixie cut. My luscious thick hair was like a mane, dark and tumbling in waves. Then came a difficult time and I wanted to change things about me and around me. So I began working inwards and outwards. I had my mother (an untrained, yet amazing hairstylist) chop off my shoulder length hair and bring it to a cute little lob. The decision was subconscious, I realised it in retrospect. I was not looking to make any drastic changes but the haircut somehow gave me a little distraction. Sort of like an insignificant but welcome change from the mess that my mind seemed to be shrouded in. For the most part, I was glad to be rocking the lob and wore it with great pride for the next four months. It grew out, not out of shape but in a way that it defined my face and brought out the little curls at the ends of my locks. So change, once again was welcome.
I realised I was getting better, getting back to the old me. I was again becoming the girl who would get tired of things pretty soon and would look for ways to keep things interesting or accept and (sometimes abandon) what she could not change. What did I do this time? Snip, snip! My twin who usually styles my bangs was pestered to chop off my hair to a pixie. Several Pinterest pins, YouTube videos and “pixie cut for heart shaped face” image searches later, I sported a longish pixie. Part of which I styled and finished myself. It was a defining moment for her too. Content with merely styling bangs or supervising my haircuts when mum would work her magic; she never had the courage to chop off hair. And me… well, let’s just say that I’d always had a girl crush on the cute pixie and how it led an impish, androgynous or out-and-out badass look to the wearer, depending on how it was styled. Dad loved it, brother was meh and the twin was glad I wasn’t too critical with her work 😛
My hair growth is crazy and what was a long pixie started resembling a bob. In came mum and rectified it all. Moms are awesome. It makes me happy, to know that I’ve found the courage to cut my hair this short. I’ve always felt like I am not the smartest at making decisions. But boy, this is the coolest one I’ve made!
I wouldn’t call myself pretty; I have been told I have a rather unconventional face. As a young child and a teenager, I’ve battled self-esteem issues as my twin has a more symmetrical set of features. Comparison is the cruellest thing anyone can be subjected to. Countless aunts, close or distant, have done that as I was growing up. It can bring you down for the words spoken aim at showing one person up and the other is left feeling belittled and hurt. Sure, there’s an awkward smile or an occasional giggle to mask it all but deep down it leaves you feeling inadequate. That no matter how funny or nice or kind you are, people will judge you for the way they see you. It took a lot of pain, a brash decision and a super short, chic haircut to get me to reflect on all this… and finally get rid of all those latent feelings of inadequacy.
Now when I make my way to work, I have several middle-aged women give me stares. It really does not bother me, for I know I am in India. I’m born in a country where strangers are quite uncharitable with their opinions and unabashed to show the same. Then there are others who gawk with awe; I gloat a little, for a tiny millisecond, knowing I carry it off really well. So while the lady across the seat in the Metro is judging the six piercings in my ear, my super short pixie; I am busy chilling on the ten-minute ride to work with my music and musing about how cool and airy my scalp feels!
My friend (and co-contributor on a section in the blog) thinks the haircut resonates with who I am. Eccentric, impish and a little impulsive. She also jokes it makes me look like a dyke. So much so that she typed in “dyke” on her contacts list when she had to call me! It’s the best compliment anyone has paid me!