A really annoying question I get a lot is, “Are you growing your hair out?” Well, yes. But not really by choice. This has come up about four times within the last week, so here is my answer, and this answer applies for the rest of my life:
If I could free my hair from the need to grow, I would. If I could stop eating gelatin and stop its growth, eating only the occasional Jell-O jiggler, and even that would be reserved for weddings, funerals, and times when I pretended I was sick to get out of weddings but then had to fight off the Jell-O craving anyway.
The point being, the hair just grows.
The worst part about it is that for some reason, hair hate speech is protected speech. You would never go up to anybody and say, You should really hit the treadmill, fatass. And you would never go up to someone with a big nose and suggest surgery. Would you suggest to a casual aquaintance that they use acne medicine? Fuck no. Why? Because it’s goddamn rude. But somehow we decided that it’s okay to talk about hair. Okay, go nuts. But next time, get ready, because if you tell me your opinion on my dumb head, don’t be surprised to hear about your teeth, your birthmarks, your eyebrows, your waistline, your clothing selections, your general demeanor, your annoying relatives, your vehicle, your bad glasses frames, your preference in popsicle flavors, and anything else that I might not like about you and that you live with all the time.
I’m not really prepared to get a haircut more than three or four times a year. Sorry. I have some personal reasons, here laid out for amusement that will hopefully turn into you later wondering what percent is true:
-I don’t think I look particularly good with any haircut I’ve ever had, which includes everything from being shaved bald to long and in between, so why do a bunch of work to maintain a haircut that’s a 5/10 when I could do no work for a look that’s equally shitty but without the effort? I always look like a shitty Tom Petty, so I don’t think I’m being fooled into getting regular haircuts.
-After you get a haircut everyone asks you about it as though there is going to be some great story about why. Oh, I did it because I really did some soul-searching and that’s what I came up with? No. The story is, I had an extra two hours.
-And it really is two hours. Because you don’t just walk in, get it cut, and walk out. You go in, sit in some shitty waiting room while some asshole decides what to do with his sideburns, and then you sit in the chair for four seconds. BUT then you’re covered in tiny little hairs. You have to go home and shower. Really, you do. And change clothes. BUT, it’s not like you can just go in first thing in the morning, before you’ve showered. That’s like going to the dentist without brushing. So now you’ve committed to a minimum of two showers and two sets of clothes for the day, all for a haircut that takes four seconds. Dumb.
-Ladies, I have seen your haircuts, and they fall into two categories:
1. The Near-Invisible Trim. That’s a maintenance cut that’s almost impossible to see. It looks like you combed it differently.
2. The drastic, take off 25-40% cut. That one is obvious, and every time it seems like the lady who got the cut takes about 6 weeks to be comfortable with it, and the first two days you’re basically on the verge of tears. Exceptions exist, but damn few.
So, you have to understand that when I get a haircut, I’m cutting somewhere between 40 and 60% right off. That’s a big difference, and I look like a fucking idiot for a good three or four days. So you’ll have to excuse me for putting it off as long as possible.
-I don’t really care to sit and stare in the mirror for a half hour. I don’t. I don’t like what I see there. That’s the truth.
Between all that, I just don’t see a lot of incentive to get a haircut.
The other thing that bothers me about it is that so many other people take it upon themselves to have stake in it, to advise me like a child. I know I look like a fucking idiot. I’m self-aware enough to hate myself enough to know that my hair looks like shit. I’m not walking around thinking how awesome my hair must look now that it’s at it’s natural best. I don’t think I’m cool, I don’t think I’m making some kind of idiotic point, and I know that hair is this scraggly shit that grows out of your head and nothing more. I’m self-aware and self-loathing enough to know that getting a haircut will not only make no difference in my life, but will not make me feel any better about myself. No internal change, no external.
Yeah, I will get a haircut sooner rather than later. It’s annoying after a while. And before too long there will be a good weekday for wasting the entire early afternoon. But just know that no matter how much I wasn’t making a point with my previous (un)haircut, I’m making less of a point by cutting it.There are some advantages to getting a haircut. Mostly, it saves effort. Less shampoo, easier to dry, shit like that. And the primary advantage is that it’s no longer in my face.
So how about this: How about we let my hair get in my face enough to convince me, and YOU stay the hell out of my face.
Yours in Christ,
Pete