queer story 3
I want to talk about my hair. We all know hair tells a story. What length it is, what colour, what texture, what you do with it. Whether your hairstyle 'conforms' to society's expectations (or not) matters. You could shave it off, but even then you'd be making a statement. Before I get any further and talk about my own hair I'd be remiss to not acknowledge in the narrative around hair that black women's hair comes under the greatest scrutiny from media and society. There is a long history of racism and misogyny around how black hair has been described and politicised by white people, deeply rooted in slavery and colonisation. There's also a long history and movement, led by black women, to reclaim their hair and how they choose to wear and style it. If you're interested in reading more, I would recommend Beyonce & The Reclamation of Black Hair by Danielle Dash and this podcast from 99% Invisible and The Stoop as good places to start.
Hair, then while deeply personal, is also inescapably political. It is also unique to the individual — you will have a different (hair) story to me, as it should be. So here's mine.
Last year, around August and September in particular, I was thinking a lot about what my hair was saying and in particular if it was saying queer. I had come out to my family in the summer (and most of my friends way earlier); my hair had been in a longish bob, about shoulder length, for the past three or so years. It’s very ginger and there was a lot of it. I was enjoying dressing more (soft) butch, having ditched dresses the year before, and leaning into my extensive shirt collection. I was, however, thoroughly bored with my hair. I found myself gazing at short-haired girls I saw on buses and trains and in the park. I was starting to go on dates with girls. I was getting, well, gayer... and I wanted to cut my hair shorter..But but but, I hesitated for a long time because of that damn cliche that dykes had short hair and that I would be signalling something with short hair (which we all know is bullshit, people of all orientations/genders have short hair/long hair but these are the things I thought about in my early weeks and months of coming out). I didn’t want to follow that cliche, that well-worn story of the ‘straight’ girl who cuts her hair the second she comes out. I seriously thought and counted how many weeks it had been since I told my mum to when I could get my hair cut. Where was the lesbian haircut cliche cut off point?
I’ve read some great articles then and since about ‘looking gay’ and about being ‘visible’ — like this on reclaiming your closet or this on queer people's hair stories (thanks Autostraddle!). Thanks to Tumblr and Twitter I've seen plenty of positive representation of butch lesbians, soft-butches and femme folk with all sorts of hair - some which fit the stereotype, some which defy it and play with any sense of categorisation. Playing with what it means to have 'queer' hair. E.g. I am queer, therefore whatever hair I have is queer. There's no right way to do this of course. And there is a complex narrative to be had around queer visibility in general and who is seen as 'queer' by society and who is ignored and how this is communicated. For me at that time, I still felt nervous about even claiming the label and of aligning myself with queer people through my hair. Not because I didn’t want to look gay, but because I felt inadequate. Not cool enough, not gay enough to signal my queerness in such an open way. I desperately wanted to be part of the group but felt I didn’t have enough of a claim to it, being so newly out. If that sounds ridiculous (and it is a bit) know that it was something I grappled with a lot all while I was coming out and that I know others have too.
Eventually, I was so bored of thinking about it, so bored with my long hair that I made my decision. I played it off as casually as I could to my friends, dropping into conversation that I was "thinking about cutting my hair" and gauging reactions. Obviously, there was none, because talking about maybe cutting your hair is second only to telling someone your dream last night on the scale of dull conversations your friends don't want to have. So I did the smart thing and contacted a great queer person I knew with equally great hair and asked her where she got it cut. She recommended places like Open Barbers and Barberette, both gender neutral and queer-friendly places to get your haircut for a reasonable price. I love getting my hair cut now, the staff are friendly, the other seat is usually occupied by some sweet hipster guy or an adorable older dyke with a buzz cut so sharp and crisp it makes me want to weep at its beauty. One time I went in and there was a glorious butch woman with a Leicester City football shirt on and I felt so at home and happy.
So yeah it’s just hair, you cut it, it grows back. It's not a big deal. It is just hair, it doesn’t say anything. But it’s not just hair, it speaks volumes (pun intended) and what you say (or don't say) with it matters. Not to mention the fact that some people don't get a choice at all and are denied even being able to just have hair. Having your hair say nothing is a kind of privilege not everyone has access to.
For me, I switch between feeling like my hair is a radical expression of my new ‘out’ identity and like it’s only hair and I need to get over myself. Especially in the mornings (see above) and it's sticking up all over the place. And actually thinking about it now I’m overdue for a trim.
queer story is an ongoing narrative on coming out and being part of the queer community
If you have a tiny narrative to share please get in touch at thetinynarrative@gmail.com