Well, good evening! Despite a long day in class, a hard workout, and running on so little sleep, I am here to bring you the good news.
DING DING DING- I shaved my head, again.
Now not shave as in, “hey lemme take a razor to this” but William bought a new set of Whals and who better to test them out on than your hair-hater girlfriend, right?
Let me explain myreasons for cutting my hair off YET AGAIN. ..
This week has been quite intense. The pressure from school is mounting with unstoppable speed, and it won’t let up for a few weeks. The threat of a government shut down has many people angry, tense, and ranting, and tensions are running high in the office. I felt like I was working for Fox news the whole week and the old men at work were crowing louder than the roosters who appear on Face the Nation. I couldn’t handle it. People are mean, nasty, inflexible, selfish and just outright disrespectful to one another. This isn’t just people I know, its obviously people everywhere in the country.
While mulling over why I let their negativity effect me in such a way, I began to feel a bit uneasy myself. What was I so angry at? Their view points? No- every one is entitled to feel differently. Was it their delivery? A little. I quickly grow tired of people telling me why I was wrong without even really asking what I thought. Bizarre. I didn’t remember telling anyone I cared to hear what they had to say about their political views.
So what does this have to do with my hair? Well, the link isn’t direct, but it is related. I just realized that I have been trying desperately to be more understanding. To be more patient. To be more amicable in the work place. I wouldn’t say I’m mean, but I just don’t care to socialize when I know people don’t care to listen or work with someone so different from themselves. As a black hispanic woman under the age of 30, I am certainly the minority in my office, and people remind me of that constantly. When I felt the pressure to conform a few weeks ago, I decided to give myself a mini makeover. I did my hair, nails, and bought some new clothes, I went into a work with a big smile every day. Nothing is wrong with any of these things. But secretly, I hated my hair, and I felt like I had sold out by getting rid of my trademark. I also felt terrible having to deal with people’s ignorance in the office. I ignored the nasty, narrow-minded comments some people made, and I graciously accepted the complements on my newly europeanized hair and impeccable grammar. Thanks guys!!!
In the last week, it has hit me like a ton of bricks that I have to expand my horizons at all costs, and that as a result of that need, I will not be at this point forever. While I do need to play nice in the sandbox for now for the sake of making a living, I don’t have to listen to their comments, smile through meetings where insults fly, or pretend like I don’t hear when they call the only other black person in my group Obama- its not funny, he doesn’t like it, and that isn’t his name, although it sounds similar to his real one. They aren’t cute. And I won’t let ugly people dictate how my day is going to go.
Nor will I let them influence how I feel about my hair. Since unsolicited comments are their specialty, the men in my office have let me know on multiple occasions, in the “nicest” way they can, how they felt about my short crop. When I got my hair relaxed recently, they were as nice as can be to me, told me how great I looked, and that I should keep my hair like that, rather than the short and peach fuzzy ‘do I had been sporting previously. I guess since I can’t kick over their trash cans and tell them how I really feel, the least I can do is NEVER let these people think for a second that I care about how they feel regarding my hair. Do I like it? Yes, good, awesome. Do they? Don’t care. Does it change how they view me? Absolutely? Am I any different? Yes. I am certainly more confident.
If hair is a woman’s crown and glory, then I finally have returned to the throne. I can’t control how people feel about politics, or the kind of politics they use in the office, but I certainly can control my own actions, and certainly my hair. I’m really happy that my swagger is back, ready to help me take them head on.