I walked out of the hairdresser really feeling myself, my blowout rifling in the wind. It had been almost a year since my last haircut and I really missed that fresh, new, ready to take on the world feeling. If you’re a girl, you’ll agree that cutting your hair is a religious process of sorts. In a time-honoured tradition we cut our hair to mark the big moments in our lives. Our latest breakup. Our new raise. The end of summer. Cutting your hair is a euphemism for letting things go and we’ll just about let anything go that stands in our way of growth.
Recently I have been thinking a lot about hair and women and the intricate relationship that exists between both. For some of us our hair is everything, our crowning glory, our sense of security, the secret to our self-confidence.If you know women, you know that hair is never just hair, and yet I know that at least 50% of women have thought about shaving it all off at some point.
What is it about hair?
Since ancient times, hair has been used as a symbol of status, identity and self-expression. Everyone from the ancient Egyptians to the Greeks to the Romans has used his or her hair to make a statement of some sort. The ancient Egyptians ornamented it, the Greeks wore it long and oiled into place, the Romans braided or wrapped it. Hair has always served as a symbol of class, the more time you have to take care of it, the more your degree of wealth. And yet, even as the years have passed, hair still holds a special place in our identity makeup, whether for women or for men. We love to take care of our hair. We love to nurture it. And yet, in some ways, hair holds us back.
It is 2014. Farida is about to start a new job and she decides that it’s time for a new look. She goes to her hairdresser in 6th of October and asks him to chop it all off. The hairdresser looks at her speculatively, judging her sincerity. She nods again in agreement, and he takes the scissors out. Snip, snip, snip. It’s all gone. Five minutes later she runs into a family friend who tells her hair was a gift from God and that she shouldn’t have cut it all off. She attempts to donate her tresses but is told that they don’t do donations in Egypt. Instead, her hairdresser recommends she sell her hair to this store in Game’et el dowal where they will use it to make wigs. At home her mom takes in her daughter, shocked: “how will you find a 3arees now?” she asks her. What started as an attempt at revivification has quickly turned into a nightmare. Farida looks at herself in the mirror. She looks just like her mother. Oh lord.
Many of us have had a Farida moment. A moment when our attempt at reinventing ourselves has quickly turned sour. When we’ve had enough of the world and just want to re-start our lives, beginning with our hair.
What does it feel like to be identified with what you have on your head?
Does shaving it off really teach you to value it more?
Who are we without our hair?
Hair means a lot to us. It’s a fact. We’ve all faced the harsh reality of a bad haircut and have had to suffer through months of clipping and tying hair only to have the horrible haircut grow out. Asymmetrical layers. A lob. Bangs. Whether it’s a hairdresser’s mistake or our own misjudgement, we’ve all had at least one major hair faux pas. It’s easy to take for granted our reign over our hair. Growing up we never wonder what it would be like if we didn’t have our hair. If we’re lucky, we never have to. Hair is a symbol of privilege but also a way to express oneself.
When my best friend was little her grandmother used to take her to the hairdresser and cut her hair by force. She was never allowed to grow it long and her hair would always be kept short so she could remain in that cute little girl category. It’s a little bit the opposite of what the ancient Egyptians used to do to their youth. Instead of a “lock of youth”, a trestle which the pharaohs would keep till puberty, it’s kind of a “cut of youth”. And I’ve heard of many examples where people would do similar things, such as braid their children’s hair or keep them in pigtails throughout their youth. In a lot of ways, I would say that donning certain hairstyles is a rite of passage. I still remember the first day I was taught to braid hair, it seemed like a monumental point in my life. A true sign of growing up. In ancient Rome, loose hair is reserved for funerals, while keeping your hair natural is a sign of being a barbarian, proper grooming being deemed a sign of sophistication.
There are a lot of myths about hair and hair care, from the infamous egg masks to cutting hair by the moon’s cycles. Hair leaks into all states of identity. In the Caribbean cornrows were used as an act of resistance, while in Colombia they served as a map of sorts to relay messages of escape for slaves. I have a friend who struggles with hair care. Ever since she was young her hair started falling out and she had to resort to extensions to give it life: “The most toxic relationship in my life. Hair is the most important,” my very classy friend states. “I’d give up makeup for it.” For others, hair is merely a part of who they are, perhaps a sign of their heritage or an indicator of their social class. In Egypt, there are particular mythos associated with hair loss or to be more precise, hair disposal. Believing in the darker sides of humanity, many of us have been taught to flush our hair in the toilet once it has fallen out to ward off anyone performing a “3amal” on us. It’s superstitious but surprisingly prevailing. Out of three people at least two will confess to this “safer” way of hair disposal.
I don’t know how I feel about hair today. Most of the time I’m pretty happy with what’s going on on top of my head, but I’m aware I am one of the privileged few. Even men are not exempt from this obsession with hair. If you live with us in this century, you’ve probably heard a joke or two about the number of men that get plugs in Turkey. “Travelling to turkey” has become synonymous with “zar3 sha3r” (planting hair). I alone know at least three men that have had hair transplants. If I had to make a comment on hair I would say that I guess what I am most happy for is that the days of the “bigger is better” Marie Antoinette hairstyle are behind us.
How do you feel about your hair?
What hair stories have you gone through?
Do you think hair can ever be “just hair”?
If you too are interested in the meaning of hair and the origin of different syles, check out the links below for more info:
https://bellatory.com/fashion-industry/The-Long-and-Short-of-It-History-of-Hair
Faithfully yours,
Girl With One Earring
Interesting and insightful 😘