feminism

I’m growing my hair.  I think.  I last had it cut about six months ago.  It was the third strike and out for that particular hairdresser, and I haven’t found anyone to replace her.  Well, I’m replacing her, actually.  I have some haircutting shears (they came with the dog grooming kit I bought for Molly) and I am, from time to time, using them.  I figure I can fuck my hair up as well as the next stylist and then I only have myself to blame.  Plus, my prices are low.

The real question is, however, how long should I go?  I love the look of very long hair that I see on celebrities. I fantasize about swinging my shiny, cascading locks like Kyle Richards of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Or casually pulling it all back into a ponytail like Bethany Frankel.  Then I think about the reality of my hair, which is not glossy black and has never done that cascading thing. And I think about the admonishment we all grew up with: no long hair on older women.

Why is that, I wonder? What’s the deal with older women being restricted to short hair? It must be a relatively recent thing since until the early 20th century, women simply didn’t cut their hair, ever.  It was buns all around for everyone, young and old. At what point did the shingled style that was once the province of the young, with-it Flapper became the default hairstyle of older women?

It seems to me that the real question is, what is it about long hair that created the cultural rule that it  was improper for an older woman?  The easy answer to that question is that there is more money to be made by hair care producers when young women, who are more insistently involved in their grooming, are the focus. But I believe blaming advertisers or manufacturers or even our consumer culture is a kneejerk answer, true to a certain extent but it doesn’t go far enough to really answer the question.

If I dig down deeper into the issue, I have to ask: what are the images of long-haired women that come to mind: harridan, witch, grotesque, madwoman.

Let’s see if I can parse this out: Hair is a cultural symbol that we use to signify something about ourselves. As such, it is also a marker for the ways in which society works to inscribe cultural rules. Long hair is a symbol of women’s sexuality (or as Paul put it, “their crowning glory”) and as such, it must be restricted to those who are sexuality viable. That means women who are fertile. Long hair on women whose fertility is a thing of the past offends our sense of the natural order of things. When that happens, the adjudicators of our culture work to restore the natural order. They proscribe and punish those who transgress. Thus, you get the media, specifically women-oriented mass market media, advising older women that long hair is really unattractive on them.

Except. The times they are a-changing. Suddenly in 2012, something different is happening. You get Hillary Clinton, aged 65, with long hair.

And writer Dominque Browning on the Today show with long hair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And this gorgeous model. And this one. And this one.

The thin end of the wedge these long-haired older women are, and I shall take them as my role models. Now I just have to decide whether long hair looks good on me. But that’s the stuff of another post.

What do you think about long hair and older women? More to the point, how long is your hair and at what age will you think you need to cut it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I wrote this post two years ago.  Read it and know that I still haven’t found a pool.  And I still don’t look as good as the model.

 
I just ordered this bathing suit from Land’s End. It’s February and I’m looking at swimwear. I do this every year. And every year, I pass on the opportunity to clothe my body for a season of swimming. Thus, every year I do not swim.

I do not swim for a variety of reasons–well, at least two. The first is that swimming requires getting wet. I don’t have anything particular against getting wet–I do it every day in the shower, after all–so perhaps it’s the getting wet in front of other people that dismays me. The second reason that I don’t swim is that I don’t look like Christie Brinkley in a bathing suit. Even when I was of the size of Christie Brinkley, I didn’t look like her in a bathing suit.

The fact is that my figure flaws are exaggerated, exacerbated, and made paramount by the wearing of a swim suit. Despite never having given birth to a single child, my belly is–well, it’s definitely a belly. Now, in my later years, since my breasts have decided to bloom forth, my measurements put me very much in the full-figured group. I’ve got an hourglass figure–at least from the front. From the side? Not so much. From the side, I resemble a cowboy with kidney disease. That is, I have a pancake flat ass and a ballooning belly. I don’t even like to look at it, so why should I put it on display?

Because, goddamit, it’s my body. Okay, that feminist shout was strictly for the internet. In person, I’m whispering. Yes, it’s my body and I know I should love it. I should honor how well it works and how long it has supported me in my endeavors. Yada yada yada–and blah blah blah.

I do not blame the patriarchy or our consumer culture for the fact that I’m less than uncomfortable with the way I look in a bathing suit. I’ve found over the years that such blame doesn’t help the situation. My body is still my body, no matter whose fault it is that it doesn’t look the way I want it to. That’s the fact I have to deal with, and that is the fact that I must amend.

So–I’ve bought a bathing suit this year as an exercise in Immersion Therapy (yes, I get the pun; no, it wasn’t intentional). I will wear the suit until I don’t give a rat’s ass what I look like in it. I will wear the suit until the chlorine fades it gray. I will wear the suit forever–and I will swim.

Now I just have to find a pool.

 

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