The Death-Defying Hairdo That's Lasted Since 1984 and Other Hair-Raising Tales
What part of short don't you understand?
Alison Bechdel describes the hardships of the female crew cut.
The shorter my hair is, the better I feel. Yes, I'm a lesbian of a certain age, but even as a girl I craved a crew cut, and I've stayed closely cropped long since the look ceased to be fashionable. It's the only cut for me. But it does have its challenges. If I don't get my hair cut every four weeks, I feel funny in public. And to make it stand up just so requires some seriously overpriced product. (Per linear inch, it's possible that I fuss over my hair as much as several Kardashians combined.) It's tough to get a decent cut where I live in quasi-rural Vermont. The barbershop that does the state troopers won't cut women's hair, so for years I went to the sole African American salon in town, where the barber had no qualms about giving me a fade so sharp it looked drawn-on. I get called sir a lot, and I routinely endure double takes in the ladies' room. Sometimes it escalates to verbal confrontation. But then I say, "It's okay," and once people hear my (obviously feminine) voice, they apologize.
I wish it weren't such a big deal. But what can I do? I have to keep it short. Luckily, because I travel a lot, I can find good barbershops. I like a factory atmosphere best—no chitchat, no fuss. Just a brisk, clean clip and a dusting of Clubman Talc is fine by me.
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