The Politics of Hair, Remembered

I let my hair grow unfettered between December and the end of June, and after it passed the awkward mullet stage, it suddenly curled out into a kind of Farrahesque style that actually looked kind of good. (It was hot as blazes and I almost bought a matching headband and wristbands for the gym that would have changed it from Farrahesque to Tennenbaumesque, but it looked pretty sexy nonetheless.) Anyway, everyone kept being like, "you look like Farrah Fawcett" and I decided that when she died, I would probably have to cut it off.

So I did. Or, more accurately, David did. And my new hairstyle is starting to grow on me, because I was staring at it in the mirror this morning and trying to figure out what it reminded me of and I realized that it reminded me of this gang of queer women I sort of knew in college who always had these short, androgynous haircuts sticking up in different directions that I was always kind of jealous of. And now I have one, so there.