Hair, There, Everywhere

At various times in my life, my hair has been baby fine (I was a baby, after all), buzz-cut short, waist-length flower child flowing, Dorothy Hamill wedge cut, Jersey Girl permed and fluffy, 1990s mullet, and that can’t do nuthin’ with it in-between stage, ponytail, braided and up in a bun. It has become salt and pepper unless I color it- blue and purple at various times. At 63, more than two years into the pandemic, my hair has not seen a salon and has made it down mid-back.

My hair has attracted lots of attention regardless of the stage of growth. I have been pleased with the compliments and one time, it caused tremendous distress. In my 20s, I was stalked by a neighbor who left messages and notes on my windshield highlighting what he would like to do with my hair. To this day, I cringe when I think about it. Shortly after, I decided to cut it shoulder length since I felt like I was hiding behind it and I wanted to face the world without the heavy tresses that were my calling card.

In 1998, after my husband died, I would make regular visits; once a month or so to get my hair cut and it got progressively shorter. I realized that part of the reason I did that was that my husband used to wash my hair and I missed that kind of nurturing so the hairstylist would do it instead.

When my son was getting married in 2017, he asked me to let my hair grow out. I told him that I would do him one better and not dye it purple to match my gown. He was not amused, since his hippie mom’s style is sometimes an embarrassment to him. I waited until they were on their honeymoon to break out the ION (a vegan hair dye) and with delight, massaged the purpiliciousness into my hair.

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This winter, my hair felt like a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and the way that people would recognize me in public when I was wearing a mask. It is a conversation starter in the supermarket checkout line when it is vibrantly hued. It gives me street cred with my teen clients and a sense that they can trust me.

Each style represented an aspect of my life, as I recreated myself over the years. Rebellious, conforming, faerie-magical, androgynous, Goddess-flowy. I proudly claim the role of crone. She rocks the wildwoman, violet hued locks with abandon. That version has become a repository for life lessons and hopefully wisdom to put into practice. She wishes things had been easier. She wishes that pain wasn’t the price she paid for some of those insights. She wishes she could have some do-overs. There were words that went unsaid, feelings unexpressed. There were utterances better left filtered or silenced. These days, she is far more outspoken and assertive, communicating as best she can, about the beautiful and bewildering aspects of life.

My favorite image was drawn by my great niece a few years ago. Does she know her Aunt Edie, or what?

One of my favorite movie musicals is Hair. The 1970s anti-war, pro-peace film highlighted the magnificence of the locks that graced the heads of the characters.