A little over a year ago, I was preparing to work in an haunted house, and on a whim, I asked the costume designer, "What if I shaved my head?" Her eyes got huge and filled with glee, then she dragged me quickly across the space to the director, already taking off on a tangent and planning how to make me as androgynous as possible, to confuse our guests and leave them off-balance. And it worked.
Now, that wasn't my only reason for shaving my head. I've always liked my hair short, and the shorter it got, the more I liked it. So I had a curiosity about shaving it all the way off, just to see if I liked it the best. After all, if I hated it, it's just hair; it'll grow back.
But my other excuse for shaving my hair was because I was working on a calendar for the club - The Sexy Bald Men Calendar. I had gotten 14 guys with bald or nearly-bald heads to do photo shoots and submit photos for a calendar. And kind of in support for or advertising for the calendar, my head being shaved was pretty cool too. I'm even a couple of the calendar pics with my equally-bald pate.
The day after I shaved it, there was health fair at my work. There was some guy touting the wonders of some kind of 'magic chocolate' - a chocolate-flavored health supplement of some kind, and you could see his face light up when he spotted me in the group as he began his spiel. When he got to the right part of his presentation, he looked at me and said, "I gotta' ask... cancer?" Poor guy was unhappy to hear that no, I'm just weird. Turns out his magic chocolate cures cancer, too. I may have narrowly missed out on some sort of revival-healing.
Some of my friends were worried about the C-word, too. I was also going through a phase of getting rid of a bunch of my stuff. And with my daughter having just gone to college, I was making a lot of adjustments to my life. That included a series of trips to the doctor to catch up on my healthcare. So some people put all those things together and started worrying about losing me. I had to post a huge Facebook note to everyone to reassure them that I'm not sick, just adjusting.
It does get me a lot of attention, being bald. Lots of black women stop me in stores and parking lots to complement me on it. They are always very empowering in their encouragement and admiration. When the rare white woman comments on it, it's always with a self-effacing, "I could never do that" kind of remark. It reminds me of some of the comments people would make to my mom about wearing a big hat to church.
Sometimes, being bald is really confusing to other people. People default to assuming I'm male because I'm white and bald. In a drive-through, I'm almost always addressed as 'Sir'. And I never say anything; if I minded, I wouldn't have shaved my head. But when they realize it, it's always amusing, yet sad, to see them stumbling over themselves apologizing. I got pulled over once by a cop, who didn't realize I was female until he looked at my license. Granted, it was pretty dark. And then he couldn't hand me back my license and get out of there fast enough. I told myself he was on the lookout for some belligerent bald white guy in a red pick-up truck.
Of course, that means it's easier for me to 'play' male if I wish. Paul loves that. And since it means reshaving every weekend or two, sometimes we shave off all but a small mohawk - Paul and Rubi both like the mohawk a lot. So I have options in my hair choice that can be changed easily by just reshaving.
I'm cooler at night, without a bunch of hair in my way. Which is great, because Boss is always cold, and I'm always hot. So getting my head cool helps a whole lot.
My hair can't be pulled; that's both good and bad. I like my hair pulled, on purpose, by certain people, up to a certain point. And I miss that. But there are other things that can substitute. However, I never accidentally catch my hair in anything or pull it rolling over in bed or anything like that. And my hair can't be pulled past that 'certain point' where I like it. Sam finds it pretty darned amusing when a top's all frustrated because he wants to grab my hair and it won't work.
The weather's starting to cool again now, though. So I'm trying out a few different caps to wear, to keep from getting too cool. I bought one for Jarett that Paul inherited, and I've been wearing it the last few days regardless of who is out.
Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a window or a mirror somewhere. I make an unusual sight; I'm not your cookie-cutter magazine-ad girl. Heavy - mostly top-heavy - and bald white woman, no longer a young girl. My fashion sense is pretty muted; I dress for comfort, but not soccer-mom or couch-potato kind of comfort. I do have my own style. And for the first time I can remember in years, I really dig my own style. I like the way I look and the aura I project. I am an attention-getter, and I like it.
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