Oooookay. Time to update the photo. On Huffington, on Bilerico, and my own blog.
I think I need some vaseline on the lens.
Seriously, this haircut reflects more of who I am than the long hair ever did. Sounds silly to me, in many ways, to hear myself talk about hair. I personally grew tired of having the endless hair ties lying about the house, my office, my car, one almost always on my wrist, just in case. I've had short hair almost all of my adult life.
And I've been called "sir" almost all of my adult life.
The funny thing is, even with the long hair? I still was called "sir." Not always, but enough. A more honest picture of myself would be the following:
I wear a baseball cap a lot. I have my favorites- John Deere, Life is Good, and of course, the Red Sox. And note the addition of the flannel lined shirt- hey, it's cold up here!
The bottom line is that I look like a boy even with hair down my back.
My friend Kristen, at our superbowl party said, Ya look like Thomas Jefferson, for crying out loud. Cut it off.
I did. Not because she told me to, but because I knew it wasn't me.
Besides, I'll take the short hair over looking like I have a mullet have the time. I never did get how to blow dry the top so it didn't just lay there, looking flat.
I had someone tell me once my androgyny worked well- the plunging neck line and men's pants which fit because I have no hips. And the fact that I tend to saunter.
I had never thought of it that way before. Androgyny. I liked that.
I realize people use me as a projection screen for their own gender identity issues. Case in point, my son Ben. He wants me to be the perfect vision of femininity. It's too dangerous for me to walk around with men's clothes and cowboy boots.
Or not fair.
It's time to update the photos. I'm not a long locked, blond. Actually, I'm not really a blond, I just have an amazing stylist. I'm also old enough, comfortable enough in my own skin, not to care if I'm called "sir."
That's a lot of power to be handed over a haircut.
The truth is, I want to look like me. I never did get used to seeing myself in the mirror brushing all that hair.
Walking across the playground on Friday, one of my favorite moms came up and said, It's about time. Enough of that girly-girl stuff. THIS looks good.
There you have it.
Except for the vaseline...