My hair has not been above my shoulders since, oh, 4th grade?
I’ve been so close to cutting it so many times.
I’ve layered it and pretended that would satisfy my need for change
whenever I felt the urge to have it cut short.
But for over 20 years it has been somewhere between my waist
and about two inches below my shoulders.
For years I liked it long enough to cover my breasts when I was nude.
I had some strange Eve thing.
Today it just happened.
I told my aunt to cut it off, gave a reasonable style request
and she agreed.
And now it’s gone.
I don’t miss it,
but it is a little strange.
Oh hair and all it’s symbolic baggage.
Am I liberated, self mutilating, in transition,
less angry, grieving, rejected,
giving up some imposed sense of femininity?
Mostly my hair is 11 inches shorter
and my head is lighter.
Frida knew the power.
She painted this self portrait when she cut her hair
after her divorce from Diego Rivera.
The translation of the text at the top is:
“Look, if I loved you it was because of your hair.
Now that you are without hair, I don’t love you anymore.”