Appearances

I have hair again. Well, mostly. There are still a couple balder patches at the nape of my neck, from the radiation; but other than that, my hair's grown back. It came in fine and downy and thinly at first, like baby hair, eventually thickening back to normal both in quantity and quality. I've already cut it a couple times, and it was strange to see the cut hair, one end of it was wispy, never sliced.

I'm keeping the hair short for a while, at least. I've wanted hair this short for a long time and couldn't have it: my supervisor during OCS famously turned down my request to shave my head of its pesky, time-consuming, freeze-to-my-head-in-the-New-England-winter-hair because, and I quote, he "wanted his female officer candidates to look like young ladies". After I cut my hair as short as I could get away with, fellow OCs wondered what my boyfriend would say or worried how I'd be perceived at my first unit; and more than a couple started wondering aloud if I was actually a butch lesbian. (Don't ask; don't tell...)

When I cut my hair this summer - first right before I started chemo, and then again (a completely bald shave) three weeks later, when the hair fell out in clumps and patches - I didn't ask permission. I figured I had an iron-clad excuse. And now that it's short, it's hard for anyone to argue that I'm being "radical" in my hairstyle or making a "statement" by it...after all, they've known me with that hair, or lack thereof, for quite some time now.

One of the great things of a short haircut, and there are many, is that you can get your hair cut quickly and cheaply on the "guys' side". Or you can buy a "home cut" kit, like I did a few weeks ago, and go at it yourself. Hair washes, dries, and styles much easier as well, a feature particularly practical during my recent stint underway.

So the downside? Well, I don't know if it's strictly that, but I've been called "sir" ever since the hair made its disappearance. I always figured it was an easy mistake and ignored it most of the time, just returning the greeting and moving on. We have so many people on our base, I figured if they didn't already know me, what was the point of correcting a stranger? I fell victim to the same trap of ignore-and-condone on the ship, though, and one of the other officers was quick to jump all over the unwitting offender. It reminded me of training, except without the pushups to emphasize the point. "That's ma'am. Good morning ma'am. Does she look like a sir to you??" followed with a glare at me, How could you excuse such behavior?

I've had one stranger tell me I was "brave" for having my hair guy-short, and a couple others ask if I'd had cancer. But the real eye-openers have come when I've worn wigs, which I've only done a couple of times. Once was in Texas, during my road trip, when I sported an obviously fake, shoulder-length, bleach-blond wig as part of my "costume" and a statement on the nature of the state I was visiting. Nobody said anything or even looked at me funny, which I found more than mildly amusing.

The first time was just before that, before I left on my road trip, when I met up with my former SF roommate and some of her friends (all of whom I hadn't seen in maybe a month) at a bar. Again it was like donning a costume for one of the many plays or musicals I've been in over the years. This time, my wig was short, brown, heavily styled, and expensive (=relativey realistic). I paired this sassy number with an equally bright, classy outfit and headed out on the town. Not a single person in the group recognized me, not even the roommate I'd seen daily for three months straight. "Wow, you look so good! So much...better...I mean..." was frequent.

This awkward moment was later duplicated, on Halloween. For Halloween, my one-day "mid-patrol break" in between South Africa and 378' life, I reprised a 70s outfit I'd worn to a summer theme wedding, except this time, I had the accompanying Farrah Fawcett wig that hadn't arrived in time for the summer event. Longer than shoulder-length, strawberry blond, big fat curly bangs and side-bangs and soft and long in the back...I thought it topped off my costume perfectly.

It was the first time anyone at work had seen me with any length of hair, and again, few people recognized me, even after the obligatory double-take, which I guess was only to be expected: after all, I run around all day in ODUs, safety boots, and a high-and-tight, and here I was in a long, flowing white dress topped by cheesy makeup and a fluffy wig. (The wig didn't quite have the desired 70s effect, due largely to the appearance on the political scene of one Sarah Palin, whom I, with glasses and wig, apparently resembled, at least to drunk partygoers steeped in pre-election frenzy.) The wig, or maybe its Sarah Palin connotation, worked its magic all night though - guys couldn't stop trying to introduce themselves. I knew they wouldn't have given me a first glance (let alone a second thought) if I'd been wigless, sporting my normal cut.

Top comment definitely goes to an older civilian man who works in my building. He stopped by my office the morning of Halloween, saw a girl with long, strawberry-blonde hair and a white dress sitting on the couch, smiled, and stepped in ready to flirt. (Believe me, I saw the eyes widen in happy surprise and the attitude change - the straighter posture, the slight tip to the head - gradually wash over him.) When he realized whom he was talking to, he stopped suddenly. "Wow," he finally got out. "You look really great! It's the hair, the dress...wow...you know what they say, 'clothes make the woman'. I mean...you just look really different today, so attractive!"