When I took my new job in August I immediately fell in love with a coworker I will call Fozzy Bear. Having grown up around a lot of gay men, and been deprived of them lately, I was smitten with him. He was rocking an adorable wide hybrid of a fauxhawk and mohawk. So one day I talked him into getting a pic and took it into my stylist.
I rocked that pseudo-hawk look for a while, then eventually let it grow out at the behest of family members who hated the look. At my next hair appointment I had resigned myself to get something short and dyke-ish ala Ellen Degeneres, but in my search for short hairstyles I found a really cool spin on a mohawk and I was strongly considering it.
My regular stylist had to scoot out for "kid emergency" and since I had already left work early I decided to take anyone available to regulate my messy hair and wild brows. That's how I met mini-me. Blond, bubbly and adorable we chatted like crazy while she separated my wild Germanic eyebrows into two individual units. Then, as she wrapped the hair cape around my neck I showed her what I was thinking of doing. A wild platinum blonde mohawk with long bangs.
Her excitement told me there was no backing out, no going with a tidy, dykey Ellen Degeneres look. After deciding on a 3-finger-width hawk she expertly pinned up my hair and after making one small correction, set to clipping away. "This hair needs a theme song," she exclaimed as she gleefully clipped away my hair, "like 'Eye of the Tiger'."
I feigned shock as she buzzed my scalp to a tight #1. "Are you okay?" she asked, gleefully. "Oh yeah," I replied, "it's just a lot of my head." The training wheels were off, I was doing this. The other students at the beauty school looked on in amazement as my hair fell to the ground.
As we bonded over my disappearing hair, a disapproving client next to me started asking about my cut. "Will your work be okay with that," she asked, her voice dripping with derision. "Oh yeah," I casually replied, "I've done it before."
"Oh, well do you work with the public or just on the phone?" she continued. I told her that I work in technology and that the last time I cut my hawk the CEO was just bummed that I didn't do any wild colors. Call center work paid my bills and then some for many years and I see no shame in that. Excelling at customer service isn't easy and I had, but the implication that all I could amount to with wild hair was a phone minion struck a nerve.
Like Eskimos and their countless words for snow and the German "loan word" 'schadenfreude' there are so many terms that the English language lacks. When she asked if I was "trying to make a statement" I had nothing. I mean, it's just hair, it grows back, right? But now, I'm experiencing a little bit of what the French call 'eprit d’escalier,' or, the wit of the staircase. The clever things you think of when it's too late.
What I should have told her is that yes, I'm trying to make a statement that I quilt. Though, her head exploding all over the place would have been gross and then I for sure wouldn't have been able to get my color done.
My hair is just another craft project, a way to have a little fun and make something interesting. And, like all my quilts and crafts, I like to challenge ideas about what is traditional, accepted and so on. The big question is, when I take my intermediate free motion quilting class next week, will it change anyone's ideas about their art?
