Tales of a High School Girl with Bad Hair

My mother tried to be culturally competent and take me to events for adopted Korean kids. In middle and high school I was part of a teen group and my Mom would drive me from the burbs to St. Paul for the bi-monthly meetings. Looking back, I think that in addition to the cultural support groups, I craved more subtle accommodations too-- like a woman who knew how to cut my thick, course, stick straight Asian hair.

Her name was Donna and she had been cutting my hair since 3rd grade. Each haircut was much the same: a too short bob with too much layering and dreaded bangs. While I was learning to assert myself at home and in the classroom, in Donna's chair I would freeze up and let her do whatever she wanted with my hair. Awful. Let me paint a picture for you: 5'2, 100 pounds, no butt or bust to speak of, and too short hair cuts that made me look younger than I was. And this "do" on top of my head was what I was forced to shape and primp each morning. I have very few distinct memories from this time of my life but I know that on the day of school pictures in 9th grade I actually cried with frustration because my hair was that unattractive. The braces, facial acne and pastel blue and pink sweater certainly didn't help, but at the core of it was a haircut I detested. Why didn't I ever ask for a new stylist? Because adolescence can box you into thinking that your reality is the reality. We had little money and Donna- no surprise- was reasonably priced.

I did all the things a person might do to save a haircut and look. I blew dry my hair, curled things and then added product. Every day. I even wore make-up. But a young girl can only do some much with her hair and if her hair matches her concept of self-- meaning, out of sorts, not fashionable, hopelessly unattractive-- well, then, she isn't going to search for a new salon because she figures her hair fits who she is.

When I think back on all of the sleep I might have enjoyed if I'd only embraced hair mediocrity instead of working towards it...

Sadly, it was only once I'd finished college that I completely left Donna behind. Now teaching in my hometown, at the rival high school mind you, I could reinvent my high school self. The cut was more expensive and I felt pressed to buy the expensive salon shampoo, but it did free me from Donna and for that I am thankful. Nowadays, I am a hair cut wanderer. After 6 marvelous years with Miss Randy, a friend and fantastic stylist (who has now moved to FL), I survive on 3-4 haircuts a year at varied places. In the last five years I've gone a whole year without a haircut, donated 10 inches to charity, let my hair air dry for about a year, twisted it into a fake bun for about a year... all signs that my measurement of self is not consumed with my image. Or, have I forsaken the concept of beauty...