Reasons to Shave My Head Pt II: Observations & Reflections

It has been approximately four months since I cut off ten (or so) inches of wavy, brown, relaxed femininity, and it has been about two days since I cut off three inches of erect, aggressive, unfamiliar attention. Of course, by the former, "femininitiy," I mean the head of hair I arrived in Chile with, and by the latter, "attention," I mean the unexpected mohawk (or was it a faux-hawk?) that came into the picture months later. Though it may seem silly, I've already noticed several changes in peoples reactions to me as a human being. Please note, however, that I do not really know what people are truly thinking about my appearance. I only draw conclusions based on social ques.

Not long after adopting the mohawk look in November of 2009, I had already begun to notice significant differences in the way I was treated. In Santiago, people still stared at me, but the looks seemed to change ever so slightly. Men on the metro wouldn't look wide eyed, for what felt like minutes at a time. Strangers wouldn't half smile at my friendly brown face. Instead, people would look, and quickly avert their eyes as if they were scared that I might catch them. Only children, and people my age had the courage to point and say, "rock and roll!" or, "hey, I like your hair." In my daily exchanges with vendors, I felt as though they were slightly intimidated by me. It soon became clear that my aggressive hair style amplified my assertions. I found this amusing, because I have never been treated like an aggressive person. It's empowering.

New York City was a bit of a different story. I certainly got looks (though they were subtle) but I also got a lot more compliments from strangers. Most of these strangers were men - black men. I found their attention fascinating. "That's a cool hair style" or "I like that look" always came in a complimentary, and friendly tone. This is the same (or similar) demographic that - nine months prior - would have said things like "Hey ma, how you doin'?" and certainly not in a friendly tone. It was more like the intonation one would use to speak to someone that one found sexually attractive. Do I know that the black guys who complimented me on my hair would be the same black guys who would holler at me in the street? No, of course not. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they were a completely different mix of people. We'll never know. Point is, I felt like men, and people in general, treated me as a gender neutral character. Which, in some circles, was seen as really cool, and in others it meant that men talked to me more like a friend, and less like a docile creature with a vagina.

Back in Chile, after two months vacation in NYC, and still with the mohawk, I became hyper aware of the ways in which people looked at me. I told my mother that it felt as though people were thinking "where is she from? What is she doing here?" "What a horrible hair style" "How could she look like that?" or "Wow a black punk!" My wonderful mother (who also happens to work as a therapist) reminded me that I was just projecting my own thoughts on to these strangers. So I confronted my projections, and didn't allow my appearance to take over my looking glass self. I really have had to toughen up in the last few months because standing out can be very disarming.

Now I am newly disarmed: I've chucked the mohawk and have a short little Afro. My host mom said that I look more like a little girl, but pretty (which she never said with the other look), and the old man at the kiosk on the corner said that I look prettier now than I did before. What is most interesting, is the male response on the street. I think I've gotten more whistles and whatnot in the last two days than I did in the last four months. And that's really only a slight exaggeration. I feel as though I've reentered the realm of sexualization - and it's good to be back (I'm only partly joking. Or am I? ...What do you think?)

It's hilarious how much three, or five, or ten inches of dead follicles can do. I went from an average, feminine looking girl, to an aggressive, cool, rock and roll kid, to a, perhaps, slightly edgy, vaguely attractive female. It's been quite the ride. I never thought I'd be brave enough to take it. What I find most exciting is that my external remodeling has not been a full reflection of my internal refinements. Though the two clearly affect each other, I enjoy their distinctions and my new found ability to appear as various caricatures, personalities, or stereotypes, and still feel like my complete self.