Over the last 15 months, I have changed. And then, a few weeks ago, all of that changed, and I went for a change. I got a haircut.
In November 2008 I wrote this passage:
"I have a terminal fear of hairdressers, and ever since an older boy with blond hair in a pony tail at the bus stop used to punch me, I am terrified of blond men with pony tails. I could never become that guy, and I love mirrors too much. I also hate paying money for hairdressers, but I would never allow someone I know to cut my hair. I consider the fee I pay as the right to hate that person who de-faced my hair until it (my hair) grows back."
That was the last haircut I got, and since then, I successfully avoided the salon experince. I figured I would fully immerse myself into the student lifestyle and tried to capture the look of a Dutch hippy carefree student. I wonder if anyone noticed. Then one day, I was approached at the train station by some idealistic young kid who asked me to give monthly donations to his charity so he could go to some poor African country and build a school.
Great. I am not going to sponsor some hippy douchebag to go to Africa to lay a few bricks, and go on a few safaris. If he thinks it is such a great cause, surely he could get a normal job and send his money himself, instead of guilt tripping poor students like me. He argued that a few cups of coffee is all that it costs per month, but I have a caffienne addiction - not the poor African school children. Besides, aid doesn't work. Still, I am not a completely heartless person. In fact, I have a freezer-full of human hearts in my fridge. But I thought, I am not going to give my caffienne allocation to charity, but I will give them something they have to use: my silky golden locks.
I decided to set myself a goal: to donate my hair to charity. For that, it would need to be a minimum of ten inches long. In the metric system that would be equivalent to two middle fingers (America is never going to go metric.) This served me two purposes. Firstly, it gave me a reason to grow out my hair, and secondly, it would give me a reason to cut it. This way, I would overcome my dual fears of blonde men with pony tails, and my barberphobia.
It was an amazing experience having long hair. Here is a bullet-list of events that I never thought I would ever have.
- Non-Japanese people thought I looked like David Beckham. I still think I looked more like Gwyneth Paltrow.
- My girl flatmates, and girl neighbours asked ME for a hair elastic! "Ouch" said my dwindling masculinity.
- I would spend more than a few minutes brushing my hair. Seriously, I felt like a hot Hawaiian girl sitting next to a waterfall.
- My sunglasses - which I often used as a more manly versio (but not by much) of a hair clip - became so entagled in my hair that I needed assistance to cut me loose.
- I started - shock - tucking my hair behind my ears. It was official. I looked ridiculous.
Everyone I told about my charitable goal had never heard of such a thing, but it does exist. It is called Locks of Love, and makes wigs for children with diseases that cause hair loss. Not even the hairdresser had heard of such a charity. He then had to explain it to his boss (in ... Turkish?), and then he gave me over to another hairdresser and explained it to her (in... Belgsch?). And bam, the pony tails came off.
I was actually about one inch short of the 10 inch goal. So, if they even end up using it, it will be to sell it to help offset the production costs. It doesn't seem like much hair either. It is a little disappointing. It's like the sample you give to the doctor, it never seems like very much.
Below I have made a video compilation, a video montage of the last 15 months. Sorry to everyone who had to witness my pony tail or tucked-behind-the-ear-ness. I promise that I won't change, at least not for a long time.
No comments:
Post a Comment