I was 8 when I first cut it off. It was my birthday and I was having a roller skating party. I remember I wore a purple and white striped leotard, purple nylon dance pants and matching warmers. But what I remember most was the anticipation… waiting for my friends to arrive so that I could open the door and VOILA! Have them all freak out because I had CUT my hair. All. Off. My long frizzy curls had been cropped into a boy short mop. (Which I would be oft reminded of by adults who called me ‘son’ or ‘young man’). Even at this young age it seemed like a statement, a meaningful change that should illicit a response… even if none of my friends gave much of a reaction (they just wanted to go skating and eat cake!).
But people certainly give you a reaction today… Especially if your name is Beyoncé.
I never thought I’d do it, but I’m writing about hair… spurred by the recent news of Beyoncé cutting hers. EW! ACK! Pop culture gossip news – it already populates too many sites and newsstands in lieu of significant science news (like the hyper loop!). But “Ms. In the Biz” is a site for women, specifically for women in entertainment, many of whom act and who have to project a specific brand. Image is important, tied to your brand, and hair is a big part of that, whether we like it or not.
What does your hair say about you? What does it mean if you have less of it? Why, whenever we’re going through some sort of change or crisis is our instinct to chop it all off? Why does InStyle have a digital ‘Hair Tool’ for us to try on celebrity hairstyles? And why, when I can’t find an outfit to wear out and I’ve had a glass of wine do I take my scissors and cut bangs?! Is it written in our DNA that female angst equals a chop? But unlike celebrities, we don’t have the option for thousand dollar weaves to put it all back.
So, I’m going to make a bold declaration: YES, a woman chopping off her hair is a big deal. People may marginalize it, but hair has poignant historical symbolism to our gender and has been intrinsically tied to our sexuality and our value. And I believe we should be able to challenge that.
Arguably, the most celebrated beauty in art is Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. The Goddess Venus, known both for her beauty and intelligence, is portrayed with a cascade of golden tresses that wrap around her naked body and ultimately covers her most private of parts. Her hair is a placeholder, a cover for her genitals thus a representation of it and her sexuality. This is not a term paper however, so I won’t traipse through centuries of art where this symbolism is repeated (but this is a good paper )… I’ll just jump to the FAIRY TALES we grew up with… where every princess has long hair. Is it even an option? Disney has yet to release a princess who has short hair, so probably not. And these fables go so far to importance of long hair that it becomes a part of the plot; RAPUNZEL’S hair is a device that allows the Prince to save her, thus an extension of her desirability. The prince would never be able to reach her and ultimately marry her if not for her long hair.
And from these princesses in our formative years we leap to angels… those of the Victoria’s Secret kind. Every ‘Angel’ has long luxurious locks (except for one). The Victoria Secret series about finding the next ‘Angel’ revealed the casting importance of not only the perfect body but of the perfect long thick hair. For what would be the purpose of wind machines if not to fan the flames of a man’s desire, or a woman’s envy by whipping long locks of hair into a glorious wind tossed crown… A woman’s crowning glory.
Which brings us back to Beyoncé. Her performance at the Super Bowl was superb, brought to even new heights by her backup performer: her hair. It was everywhere, moving, gyrating, finishing her moves after she had already stopped. She whipped it into a frenzy like she had just done to the audience. I was in awe of it, as if it were alive, the Sasha Fierce version of Medusa’s snakes. But apparently Beyoncé felt those tendrils of fire were a weight. Maybe it had to do with being a new mother, or needing to free herself from the countless hands needed to craft it into the lush mane we see on screen. Or maybe her neck was just sore.
Google is full of search results of women real and fictional who felt ‘the weight’ and took to the scissors. Joan of Arc, Buddhist monks, Sinead O’Connor, Britney Spears, ‘Ripley’. The women of the 1920s were rebels when they chopped their tresses into chin length bobs. F. Scott Fitzgerald composed a short story about it. A cut is a statement. It can declare many things, from a protest to a celebration, but it is always a declaration. But sometimes it becomes necessary.
I have cut my hair three times since that 8th birthday. Five years ago was the most drastic, the most emotional. I had long hair that I would straighten, curl or blow dry everyday, always for auditions, until one day I started to lose it. It came out of no where — I had always lost hair in the shower, but one day I realized how much I’d lost and how it wasn’t growing back; I had half the amount of hair I once had.
It took over my life. I became devastated and obsessed all in one moment, never having given any thought to my hair before (above my annoyance for its frizzy curls). I would stand in tears in front of the mirror, watching strands land in the sink as I brushed it. I started staring at other women, analyzing their hair, how wide their part was, if you could see their scalp. But after consulting doctors, I learned it was simply genetic and hormonal, a female form of alopecia that more women are facing today. There were some treatments, but I would never have the volume of hair that I once had.
So I chopped it off.
I chopped it to stop my heart from aching at what I was losing… I wanted to make it a non-issue. Then it became a declaration. I wanted to be an actress who wasn’t another pretty face with long pageant waves. I wanted to stand out for who I was, for my talent and brain. I wanted to be powerful and edgy (though I certainly got a lot of ‘so cute!’ after I cut it). It happened to coincide with the time that we premiered After Judgment and I was out promoting the series and introducing myself and the team to the digital space. Many of you there never knew me in my original ‘long hair days’. The short hair became a symbol of my transition into producing. And I said I’d never grow it long again. But I did, even if my thick hair of youth never returned.
And then three weeks ago, before all the Beyoncé brouhaha, I was feeling out of sorts, not in my skin, needing a change to regain a sense of existential power. So I did it again. Snip snip. But not so drastic (because of Granite Flats) – more a fashionable 1920s bob that makes me feel sassy and stylish. And I don’t even mind if someone calls me cute. Because I just feel better.
I was reminded why I feel better during RAY DONOVAN the other night. Ray’s henchmen cut off a big chunk of Frank Whaley’s hair after they had laced his coffee with LSD – “This will stay in your hair for 7 years” – it was a way to black mail him as he worked for the FBI. A woman’s long hair contains years and years of dead cells, of past life experiences — whatever chemically and metaphorically that may mean to you. Cutting it off, freeing yourself from it becomes a type of a cleanse.
So take control of those amber, silver, golden, or raven tresses of yours and use them to inspire you, not hold you down. You don’t need waist length hair to be a powerful beauty. A full chop always does a body good— at least once in your life – but a word to the wise: Don’t drink and snip! Let the professionals do their magic, so you can make your own.
Be back soon. T