the butch is back
My musing from a few weeks ago:
I'm cutting my hair tonight and this has sparked no end of conversations (mostly with myself) about the way in which I related to the world in gendered and or sexualized terms. Which is to say that I've lost a lil' of my mojo with longer locks.
Yes, there is something delicious about burning my hair between two hot ceramic plates in the morning and when I recently discovered that I can do that fun rock-a-billy girl thing with the front of my pony tail I was thrilled, but the drawbacks include that I never get hit on by the ladies anymore and I don't swagger as often. I don't feel the swagger. Having girly hair makes me feel. . . . girly. In all the bad not-reclaimed as empowerment ways.
And I want to think that such a thing is possible. That the explosion of "reclaiming hyper femininity as a way to turn it on its head" culture is possible -- ala the mainstream claims (at least in the beginning) of Jane or the semi-less mainstream arguments found in Bust -- or the general surge of indie-girl culture that focuses on pretty bags, hair clips, and pony purses. I'm all in favor, but can't escape that for me playing to the "girl" in me often requires employing a lower self esteem factor. While playing the butch in me (which I like to think of as the "laaady" in a really sort of low and funny voice) makes me more confident, feel less vunerable and more engaged.
Which may all be some form of fucked up internalized misogyny. Definitely is -- right? My annoyance with this is that I feel like after careful consideration, years of purging, etc -- a cultural assumption should be forced to go away. I should be able to don a dress and feel as cocky and sure of myself as I do laced up in a tie. Alas, alack. I only feel that way when I have a suitably butch haircut. Then I revel in the contrast, the juxtaposition. In dress with long hair I feel. . . like I'm going to church : prim, proper, contained. Properly packaged with pink bow.
Which is how I've been feeling anyway -- slightly contained. The new job schedule is hectic, robbing me of the extra two hours that I didn't used to realize made my evenings feel whole and complete. Who knew six-to-eight was such a vital time for rejuvination? Either way, the hair goes tonight.
A post haircut post-script is pending.
I'm cutting my hair tonight and this has sparked no end of conversations (mostly with myself) about the way in which I related to the world in gendered and or sexualized terms. Which is to say that I've lost a lil' of my mojo with longer locks.
Yes, there is something delicious about burning my hair between two hot ceramic plates in the morning and when I recently discovered that I can do that fun rock-a-billy girl thing with the front of my pony tail I was thrilled, but the drawbacks include that I never get hit on by the ladies anymore and I don't swagger as often. I don't feel the swagger. Having girly hair makes me feel. . . . girly. In all the bad not-reclaimed as empowerment ways.
And I want to think that such a thing is possible. That the explosion of "reclaiming hyper femininity as a way to turn it on its head" culture is possible -- ala the mainstream claims (at least in the beginning) of Jane or the semi-less mainstream arguments found in Bust -- or the general surge of indie-girl culture that focuses on pretty bags, hair clips, and pony purses. I'm all in favor, but can't escape that for me playing to the "girl" in me often requires employing a lower self esteem factor. While playing the butch in me (which I like to think of as the "laaady" in a really sort of low and funny voice) makes me more confident, feel less vunerable and more engaged.
Which may all be some form of fucked up internalized misogyny. Definitely is -- right? My annoyance with this is that I feel like after careful consideration, years of purging, etc -- a cultural assumption should be forced to go away. I should be able to don a dress and feel as cocky and sure of myself as I do laced up in a tie. Alas, alack. I only feel that way when I have a suitably butch haircut. Then I revel in the contrast, the juxtaposition. In dress with long hair I feel. . . like I'm going to church : prim, proper, contained. Properly packaged with pink bow.
Which is how I've been feeling anyway -- slightly contained. The new job schedule is hectic, robbing me of the extra two hours that I didn't used to realize made my evenings feel whole and complete. Who knew six-to-eight was such a vital time for rejuvination? Either way, the hair goes tonight.
A post haircut post-script is pending.
posted by good golly at 10:45 AM
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