Snip, Snip, Snip

After leaving a mentally and physically abusive husband, after years of feeling like a constant piece of ass, and a sexual assault later... I got the grand idea to donate all my hair to charity, thinking that it would make men stop staring at me every where I go as if I was a vulnerable gazelle in the wild.

I wanted my power back. I just didn't know where to start to get it.

What better way to avert a man's eye than to stop appealing to their attractions, I thought. My long, almost black hair seemed to be one of those appeals, and so I wanted it gone.

I had pondered the idea every day, looked up all the YouTube videos I could find, and read articles about women who had decided to take the plunge. Every single woman said almost the same thing: that they felt empowered, and as if they had cut away all their dead issues, allowing them to start a new, which is exactly what I was craving for my life.

Thinking back on it now, it seems a bit naive of me to believe a haircut was going to resolve my fucked up issues... but when you are desperate to feel better mentally, you rationalize quick and crazy fixes.

(i.e. Why every woman understands the "dye their hair, or cut the bangs breakdown moment" jokes)

I was scrolling on Facebook one night, staying disconnected from actual life like most people do these days, when I stumbled upon an event near me.

"SEEKING MODELS AGES 18-25 WHO WOULD LIKE TO SHAVE THEIR HEADS, WILL PAY FOR YOUR TIME, AND YOU MAY DONATE YOUR HAIR TO CHARITY. NO MODELING EXPERIENCE NEEDED..."

I immediately clicked on it, thinking it must be fate. I have to do this.

The event stated it would be at the top salon that was highly reputable in my rather elaborate city, with a photographer there to take beautiful photos of the final result... yada, yada, yada. They requested you emailed them details as to why you want to do it, how long you have wanted to do it, and a photo of you currently. They were only seeking women who had long hair, not ones that were already short or close to buzzed. I wrote in keeping my reasoning as politically polite as I could in trying to avoid looking like a Britney circa 2007 case, and sent in my photos.

They were quick to respond, very excited for me to be a participant. We messaged back and forth, working out the details and I scheduled my appointment.

On the day of, I received a text to remind me of my appointment, and a contact in case I had any troubles getting down there. When I arrived, I was greeted by a gentleman who didn't talk much. I was expecting to see a good amount of women there ready to shave their heads like my crazy self... but there wasn't. He assured me that they were currently finishing up with one "model" and I was next.

When it was finally my time to go, he escorted me to the stylist's room towards the back of the establishment. The salon was beautiful, as I expected since it is the number one salon in the area. There was a videographer in the room angled to the left side of me, and an empty chair next to him. He asked me to sign a brief photo disclosure waiver, and then have a seat in the chair. There was a camera set up crookedly on the shelf in front of me below the mirror I was about to stare into as they took this "burden" off my head.

I should have went with my gut. The vibe was off. It no longer seemed like a glorified salon experience... It seemed like a creepy back alley job. I took photography in high school, so I knew a thing or two about proper angles, lighting, etc. I knew then these two men were not professionals. But, like most mistakes in my life, I ignored my intuition. After everything that had happened to me in the past five years, I couldn't help but think I was just being paranoid.

The man who greeted me when I came in sat in the empty chair... staring at me. Hardly spoke two words... just stared while me and the hair stylist talked about typical bullshit hair stylists talk about. Her bubbly demeanor, and the fact that she was female, stabilized my inner panic for the sketchy situation I had got myself into. She assured me not to worry about a thing. This would be a good thing, a new start. Plus,

"I had the perfect face for it."

The minute she started cutting, it was as if I had forgotten completely about tho two men staring at me. I looked at my reflection, so happy with myself for having the courage to snip it all off. I thought about my ex husband who hated women with short hair, and who always wanted it long. I thought about the man who raped me, and pulled me by the dark strands that were now falling to the ground. I thought about all the cat calls from men that made me shake with fear when I walked from the grocery store to my car, wondering if their animalistic nature was going to make them pounce on me. I felt free, and sort of like a bad ass. I remembered watching the movie G.I. Jane with my mom when I was a little girl and Demi Moore shaved off all her hair as a big "FUCK YOU" to all the men who were belittling her. I was happy... and I was bald.

When she was done and removed the cape from around my neck I looked at the men to the left of me, and saw the gaze — the hollow-eyed gaze, when you know exactly what they are thinking. The lion when it's watching the gazelle peacefully enjoying the world... thinking about how delicious they taste.

My stomach turned and I wanted to leave. I headed immediately for the door, and I did not care about what the rest of the "experience" was supposed to be. I already had a good idea as to what those videos of all my hair be removed was going to be for, and I was sick.

The man who sat in the chair watching quickly followed me out, offering to pay me for my time. I declined. He said he wanted to contact me in two weeks for another trim, and I walked out.

I sat in my car holding my braid of hair, and cried. I looked in the mirror wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. I just shaved my head, and ran out of there in a complete panic attack thinking that these men were perverts. Clearly, I was fucked up... but just like everything else, I swallowed hard and attempted to look at the bright side. Now I looked like a weirdo with no hair and men wouldn't drool over my existance, right?

Wrong.

After about two days the texts started coming from the man at the salon. There was nothing paranoid about my thoughts. He was, in fact, a pervert. I sat there dumbfounded that someone with a fetish would create a Facebook event, posing as a company seeking models to shave and donate their hair — myself, and whoever else fell into the trap. I thought that after all I had been through with men that my dumb days were over, but I was wrong again. Here I was trying to attempt to get my power from gross men back and somehow did the opposite?

Needless to say I cried a lot, and regretted it every time I looked in the mirror. I wondered why he wanted to do that to women. Did he have a sick obsession with bald chicks? Did he have some weird thing about watching long hair be removed? Did he like taking women with long, luscious hair and masculinizing them? Every thought made me quiver. And not to mention, the stares didn't stop. In fact, it created more. So I fell deeper into a depression that I was already sinking in.

And then all of a sudden, the universe took this weird twist. Like wild flowers, women everywhere in the media started popping up out of the cracks feeling the way I was feeling, sharing their stories about men of power doing horrible things to them. I was no longer alone in my distrust, disgust, and depression with men... or hopeless that women of this world were doomed to be destroyed by men forever.

My hair has grown a bit now, and I don't regret the experience anymore. A haircut can't heal years of trauma and make it all go away. A haircut won't cure your anxiety or night terrors. And a haircut won't stop men from being men. Attempting to strip away your "femininity" will not make you more powerful.

I've learned that my femininity is what makes me stronger. With or without hair I am still a woman, beautiful inside and out... and there is no shame in that. I no longer care if they have us beat with brute strength. My inner strength will take me much further.

I refuse to live in fear of my femininity. Women are strong and it's time for everyone to understand that.