The Despair In My Hair

I began my professional life as a consultant in the world of business in the mid 1990s, and ever since then, I’ve been trying to fit an identity that could match my career. I worked to keep my appearance relatively tidy, for the sake of credibility, so that I could feel secure encouraging others to think more expansively about their own work.

I kept my hair short for the the same reason that I mowed the lawn in front of my home.

I didn’t mind long grass, but I heard other people talking about the virtue of a tidy lawn. I wanted to be taken seriously, to show that I cared about where I live, so, even though I hated mowing the lawn, I did it. I told myself that by mowing the lawn, I was building up a socially credible frame that justified the flower beds of native plants I established at the same time.

My lawn was a symbolic display, demonstrating that I could keep nature in check, to make the flowing, bending blades of grass stiff and uniform. My hair was likewise kept at a uniform length, trimmed on a monthly basis to prevent it from becoming whatever it might be like if it were allowed to be natural.

The lawn and my hair were a promise to society that I would keep myself clipped, and never get out of hand.

This year, I’m letting it all go.

I haven’t had my hair cut since Donald Trump was inaugurated as President of the United States. At first, I told myself that I just was feeling too depressed to get myself to a barber. The longer I waited, and the longer my hair grew, however, the more purposeful it seemed.

Now, I am declaring my hair to be a fascism-free zone.

Fascism demands uniformity and obedience. It insists that we behave like blades of grass on a golf course, never getting out of line, never growing too far, behaving as if we each are just one part of a larger entity, belonging to the nation, complying with expectations, obeying orders.

These days, my hair strays everywhere. It flies out in front of my eyes with the softest breeze. It flows.

It’s not even really that long yet, but for me, this is a big departure. I haven’t let my hair be like this since I was in college.

Now, with thick streaks of grey running through it, my hair is finally showing me what life might be on my own terms.

Why have I made this change now?

For decades, I have supposed that there was a social contract. I supposed that as long as I kept my appearance and actions within a certain socially-acceptable range, society would acknowledge my gesture and keep its promises.

This year, American society has broken all its promises. There are no more social contracts. There is no Constitution, no law, no rule that is respected anymore.

It doesn’t matter any more if people keep their heads down, just do their jobs and take care of their families, and mow the lawn every weekend. It doesn’t matter how closely clipped their hair is.

The fascists who now control the USA have shown that they will seize and control and punish anyone they want for whatever reason they want, or for no reason at all, other than that it’s what they feel like doing.

Obeying the law isn’t enough to keep a person safe. Having a respectable job isn’t enough to keep a person safe. Being peaceful and polite isn’t enough to keep a person safe in America anymore.

The fascists under Donald Trump have shown me that all my attempts to conform, to match society’s expectations, never really mattered at all.

They have the power to do to anyone what they want.

What power do we have? We don’t have much, but we do have the power to stop conforming in advance.

We have the power to be ourselves until the fascists get to the place on their list of enemies where our names have been printed.

I’ve realized that there’s no reason to trust in any of the promises that America ever made to us.

So, at long last, I have stopped treating my own hair like a nuisance that needs to be managed.

For however long it is until I am forced to march through prison gates where fascist guards wait to shave my head, I am letting my hair do whatever the hell I want, like I should have done years ago.

It is time to be unkept.