Sunday, April 12, 2015

My Birthday Is Coming And I Need A Haircut

Now, you may think those two things, (an approaching birthday and shaggy hair) have nothing in common but the "and"...

BUT, for a good month now I've been thinking it's time to get a haircut- maybe even a new style, and whenever I think about my particular "style" (or lack thereof) I get to thinking about how irritating and unhelpful society is.

I frequently bemoan the fact that I was born in 1963 and not 1903. Had I been born in a more appropriate decade, I would have been turning 52 in 1955 instead of 2015. I've always felt a little out of sync with the world around me; I was a Stay-At-Home-Mom when being a working Mom was more in vogue. We were a family of 6 when McDonald's hadn't evolved beyond tables with only four chairs. I liked sewing and knitting and cooking and baking and ironing and washing dishes and doing laundry. I liked being a homemaker when there were few other homemakers living nearby. I was Laura Petrie longing for a Millie next door.

Although I've come to terms with being born too late, the fashion/style of today makes me frustrated. In 1953 you knew what you were expected to look like. You could look at a woman and know by her hairstyle how old she probably was, and whether she was a grandmother,  had teenaged children or babies in diapers. A person knew how to dress. A person knew how to do their hair. No guesswork.

As it is, I can't think about getting a hair cut without thinking about my age, and stressing about what kind of style is appropriate for a 52 year old Nana of two with grown children. I know, I know, everyone says, "Whatever you like! That's appropriate!" But there's a danger of looking like one is trying to be younger than one is- of trying to recapture or hold on to a youthful self. There's also the danger of looking "old", or being "dowdy" because women are expected to be as charming and youthful as they may appropriately be.


So... yeah.

My birthday is coming, and I need a haircut.

End rant.

Carry on.

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