The Feminist Bride: Hair

My normal beef with Hair isn't nearly enough to write a full length musical about- but since my engagement began, I've written enough mental songs about it to score an entire symphony.

Generally, I wear my 'do short. Pixie or bob, small bangs- close enough to my scalp to fit snugly under my signature beret and bike helmet combo. I've even rocked a spike look before- during a period my younger sister dubbed my 'lesbian phase'. Basically, I've gotten hair cuts that serve the purpose of being low-maintainance, fun, and passable on the professional scale.

I never thought that I would sacrifice my usual practical mix of form and function for a one day event. Until I became engaged. My hair was, I kid you not, the third thing I thought about after he said yes. The vain bride inside me vowed to not cut it until the wedding- in the hopes that I'd be able to make something out of it come the big day.



And- were my own vanity not bad enough- my initial thought of beginning the hopeless quest for long hair in 10 months- has been reinforced by almost every woman in my life, not to mention all of the wedding advertisements.

Have you ever googled 'wedding hair'? Do it, just for curiosity's sake. It's 80% Rapunzel fairy princess down to your waste B.S., 15% over-sprayed curly up-dos and, for good measure, 5% short hair styles- which generally include some cheese-ball butterfly barrette as a finishing touch. It's like the editors of the wedding sites- got to the bottom of the page and said to themselves- what if women aren't planning on growing their hair out for 5 years before they get married?- so they threw in the last 5% for good measure.

A friend of mine commented last night that she noticed my hair was getting longer (which was polite because I'm beginning to look like a Lhasa Apso. My once short hair now covers my entire face- an army of bobby pins won't keep it back.) She was wondering if I was growing it out for the wedding- and asked, if so- why- as she knows I like it better short.

My answer was straight out of a bridal catalogue. I mumbled something about the one day where all the focus is all on me, about how the pictures will last forever, about how longer hair is more romantic. She looked on quizzically- a witness to the obvious alien that has invaded my mind. Oh, she said, sympathetically. Whatever makes you happy.


And as I walked away I awoke slightly from my wedding stupor- right, happy. I thought. This is all supposed to make me happy.

Have I booked an appointment with my hair dresser? Not yet. I'm still doing battle with the alien within. Stay tuned to see if I can overcome the odds and have hair that makes me happy. Updates on final hair choices anon.