truth: i cut my hair for the douchebags.
let’s explore, shall we? (per usual, this is rhetorical. it’s near midnight. and i’m awake so i’m def going to explore. though i shouldn’t be. because my eyes feel heavy as i write. but i know as soon as a lay down, the thoughts and restlessness of all that awaits tomorrow will start and sleepy eyes will stop, resulting in that shitty sleep paralysis that haunts me when my body is more tired than my mind. it’s scary as fuck. i use such
extreme (expressive?) language because it’s extreme. and scary. as fuck. you know the word is warranted if you’ve experienced it. …umm yeah, that was a major digression so let’s return to the point: hair).
okay, the truth: the above is only partial truth actually. i mainly chopped off my hair because…well, i wanted to. but i was motivated by different forces. my own want was the most influential. i’ve always wanted to go short. super short. but i always kept super long bangs or asymmetrical cuts or hair in attempt to preserve some femininity. apparently it’s a thing that girl’s must have long hair. or hair. or whatever.
that was the other motivator. i kindasortareally dislike unfair treatment and sexist attitudes. “if you’re not a lesbian or a man, you shouldn’t have short hair.” ‘scuse me? really?? watch me. my Mexican mother is prime example of pushing what mujeres need to do and be. the hair is a sort of rebellion against both the former and the latter in a small way.
third motivator: i wanted douchebags to stop hitting on me. it doesn’t happen often. but when it does, it’s reiterates to me the superficiality of it all. and how i kind of want to meet someone who thinks i’m beautiful, but compliments my soul more than they do physical beauty.
[pause. i’m always (not actually always) complaining about how all the thing i don’t know, about how there’s sooo much information out there, about how i could just look something up but never do, taking for granted the information-literally-at-your-fingertips way the world operates nowadays. so, in the spirit of change –> definition time.
douchebag (per the information station that is urban dictionary): Someone who has surpassed the levels of jerk and asshole, however not yet reached fucker or motherfucker. Not to be confused with douche (: a word to describe an individual who has shown themself to be very brainless in one way or another, thus comparing them to the cleansing product for vaginas)
okay, back to motivating factor numero tres. i, under my generalizing and stereotyping that i do now and then, thought, “hey, maybe if i cut my hair, douchebags (and douches?) will not approach me, leaving room for the prince charmings of the world… yeah! good thinking, Clouds, good thinking.” (fun fact –again, i’m all about sharing the info today– long and wavy is what is generally preferred.)
and then i got hit on by a lesbian while at a nightclub. flattering? sure. what followed, not so much. here’s a snippet of that conversation:
“Ell: do you come here often?
clouds: no, this is my first time here
Ell: i knew i hadn’t seen you here before. i noticed you from across the room
clouds: (gag me with a spoon. good to know cheesy pick-up lines aren’t limited to heterosexual relationships). oh thank you (sincere flattery), but i’m here with a guy. i’m straight.
Ell: …oh. i wouldn’t have guessed.
clouds: (ouch. it’s fine. just keep drinking your Shiner and you’ll be fine)”
sure, i got a lot of flattering and humbling feedback on my new look (from men and women). not gonna lie, i liked hearing that i looked beautiful and cute and pretty in place of the sexy or hot that kind of gets to me a bit. but i also got the “i’m going to say it’s a good look after letting you know you now look like a lesbian or a man or someone who is confused in that no-offense sort of way” as if you can always tell someone’s sexual orientation simply by their hairstyle. or as if it’s okay to do so. ideological rant could follow but i’ll save it for later.
final motivator: i want to feel beautiful. you’ve got to understand that usually i’m between two places. there’s the first: i feel flawed in major ways despite you telling me otherwise and will work my ass off in healthy and unhealthy ways to strive toward un-striveable or the second: i don’t give an eff anymore; i’m not conforming to your view of an attractive women because i’ll never be that. i can’t be that. i’m not that. so i won’t pretend to (or, more accurately, i’ll pretend to not pretend to).
i’m still working on not straddling between those. but, in my usual honest fashion, i still wake up some days, look in the mirror and see lack of femininity and lack of a partner and (stupidly) deduce correlation.
at the end of the day, i want to hashtag this with something that encompasses it all. like #firstworldproblems or #prettygirlproblems (since i’m basically complaining that i get hit on. by the wrong sex & for superficial reasons but still, woe is me, i know). but i think the main issue, the actual problem is the superficiality of it all.
yup, that’s it.
moral of this story: