Should I Shave My Head?

Women and Control and Divorce

I had a conversation with my hair stylist yesterday about her decision to shave her head. The second I walked into the salon I noticed her long blonde locks were either A) hidden under her black cap, or B) cut off completely. I sat on the waiting room couch and began to think “Holy shit, did she really do it?”

Hair has always been a symbol of identity to women. Obviously, having shiny, full, luxurious hair has been deemed most attractive in the eyes of heterosexual men (who are the ones that set the beauty standards since the conception of Hollywood) But to us, to the owners of the hair on our heads, it’s a totem pole of self. A way to control and express who we are and how we’re feeling. Whether that is making the choice to conform to overall beauty standards, or metaphorically “sticking it to the man” by dying, cutting or shaving it in poetic and unconventional ways; when you see a girl who drastically changed her hair, the cliché is: a major life change, usually a romantic breakup, occurred. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this form of expression. In fact, I’ve done this and think of it as a necessary and creative act.

When my stylist escorted me over to her chair, I tried to peak around her head to discover the answer again.

I kept looking in the mirror and finally realized it was indeed all shaved off. Something I’ve thought about doing forever as an act of rebellion. What an inspiration. Knowing her, I assumed she knew this sleek look was probably coming into style and she had the courage to execute it. I exclaimed “Your hair! It’s amazing! Tell me the story!”

She looked away and replied with a muffled “well, it’s kind of a sad story. A lot has been going on in my life lately.”

My heart sank.

“Oh, you don’t have to talk about it…” I answered.

“Thanks. I just had these long extensions for years and now that I have my son full time, I don’t have time to maintain them.” My heart sank deeper. “With everything going on, I knew I could control my hair. So I did.”

Her reasoning wasn’t a response to a trend, change in the weather, need for female liberation. Her reasoning was a response to something tragic and a need for convenience. Radical convenience. “One night I had just had it and decided to shave it all off. À-la-Britney.”

I felt awful.

I started to think about that image of Britney leaving her hair salon. Amidst a nasty divorce, pop sensation Britney Spears shaved her head, shedding all of her beautiful locks. This was obviously extremely public and everyone was claiming she had gone “crazy”. Years later she wrote in her book “The Woman in Me,” about how she was controlled and manipulated by her family and the media.

“Shaving my head and acting out were my ways of pushing back.”

-Britney Spears

This moment was immortalized by pop culture and created an extremely damaging narrative: when women respond to pain in a way that isn’t physically appealing, they are claimed to be “erratic” or “crazy”. To me, it seems rather ironic considering the people who called her crazy were the ones who drove her there.

I didn’t think my hair stylist was pathetic or sad.

I thought she was right.

I thought she was having a proportional reaction to a traumatic event in her life. And I wondered why my first thought wasn’t to comfort her, but to look for a reason to celebrate. I wondered what the gap was between understanding and accepting. Between her generation and mine. Between holding space for grief and just flat-out being angry at what she had to go through.

@texasgardenfairyx#4bmovement

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I saw this video last week that I can’t stop thinking about.

Women have more freedom now than ever before. To do what we want. Say what we want. Live how we want. Make and spend money how we want. And yet, deep down, we still conform to the status-quo. We still care about pleasing men, making our parents proud and conforming to the traditional values we were modelled, even though we see holes in them.

Perhaps a woman’s decision to divorce a man, even if it meant losing her mind, is the best one she has ever made. Perhaps it’s a new leaf, a new time, a source of empowerment. Perhaps a woman’s decision to divorce a man wasn’t her decision at all. Perhaps she was cheated on, lied to or down right blind-sided. My point is,

We have to stop judging women for how they show up in the world.

We have to stop judging or belittling or casting prejudice on their reasonings to alter their appearance; whether that’s getting bangs or getting a face tattoo.

I don’t have an answer to how to heal all of the controlling and harmful acts toward women that lead them to express theirselves by altering a form of their identity on their head. But what I do know is that we can learn from history.

We can learn from some of our grandmother’s who would have never gotten married if they didn’t feel like they had to. Women that wanted a childless life full of a career but were never modelled that lifestyle from other women. Women that wanted equal partnerships (with a man or even a woman) but convinced themselves that they had to stay home and be provided for by a man.

I almost got married once. I specifically remember how often I bleached my hair, wore makeup daily and performed the part of what I thought my boyfriend wanted me to look like and act like. At 24, I stumbled in love and thought that that meant conforming to his idea of beauty and giving up my dreams to meet his. But I realized, and he did too, that just because you love someone, it doesn’t mean your idea of taste, preference and most importantly, happiness is the same. And that, because of the age we live in, I had the freedom and the choice to say “Actually, no. My dreams, my plans, my beliefs are just as important as yours. And we care about each other enough to let this love go.” (Obviously after this break-up my hair ended up being silver. No regrets.)

I now live with my partner in Paris, France. My hair is back to normal blonde. And I’ve still contemplating shaving it all off just because I can. We are of different nationalities, ages, genders, careers and native languages. We have two dogs. We don’t own a house. It’s a relationship dynamic I’ve never had modelled for me and I discover more about myself and him every day. It’s not a magical fairytale, it’s real. We aren’t perfect, but it’s mine. It’s what I chose as a 28-year-old with free will in 2024. No one tells me where the plot goes or what ball gown to wear. And the only evil dragon is the inner critic in my head.

I’m the main character and costume designer and director.

I get to write the narrative of my life and I’m doing my best not to judge others for their very unique life choices. Externally and internally. And though it’s scary, it feels pretty damn free.