My hair

I had some hair.  I cut that hair.  ” For Susan Brownmiller!*” I said.

[*author of Femininity]

I had finally come to feel what a drag my hair was to me.  I spent as little time as possible on it, combing it every few weeks.  I think not all long hair is necessarily less practical than all short hair; there are more factors to consider.  And long hair does not a ‘bad feminist” make.  But factors and events converged, and for me, the time had come.

So, the hair trade, huh?  I eventually accepted that some people were actually making wigs, that not every buyer got a boner from possessing a woman’s dismembered body part (necrophilia, anyone?).  I don’t think either is harmless.  On the one hand, there’s this cutting/shaving fetish, which is certainly on the spectrum of violence/torture/humiliation of women.  On the other hand, the beauty industry and the physical appearance standards within the program of femininity (“Femininity, in essence, is a romantic sentiment, a nostalgic tradition of imposed limitations” -Brownmiller).

I definitely wasn’t going to support beauty standards by contributing to any “wigs for kids” scheme (the kids are mostly girls, because they have standards to live up to, and the boys don’t mind so much being bald or shaved, because it isn’t socially important) (“Girls feel bad about not meeting beauty standards so let’s help them meet them” instead of “let’s destroy the beauty standards”).

It was pretty disgusting how many acquaintances assumed I’d sold it, or considered it a shame that I didn’t.  You know how I heard that?  “It’s a shame you don’t want to be a fetish object and let thousands of internet pervs get off on seeing you in a torture metaphor.”  (“Any violation of a woman’s body can become sex for men; this is the essential truth of pornography.”  -Andrea Dworkin)

It’s my body.  I disposed of it privately.

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