How and why I shaved my head

GROWING up, I can’t remember a time when I was particularly attached to my hair. It was long, thick, and there was a lot of it. Washing and combing it demanded lots of prayer and fasting — from me and my mother. Instead of my hair being relaxed at the customary age of nine, I was introduced to the wonderful concept of a “hairdresser”, and this continued into my high school years. My mother was adamant that my hair wouldn’t be relaxed, and I never once resisted her. Like I said, I wasn’t attached to my hair in the slightest. I never felt any need to straighten it to look “pretty”, or took any comments about me being “mixed” as compliments. As far as I was concerned, hair was just hair, and there were other more important things.

As I got older, I grew tired of visits to the hairdresser. The washing, combing, blow-drying and styling for HOURS at a time became a never-ending chore. Shelling out the money to do it was also another chore in itself. I envied my male friends, where all it took for them to look presentable was a trim and line-up. In and out the barber shop the same morning or afternoon? Unbelievable! I never thought for a second that I’d ever experience something like that.

Sixth form, which turned out to be a traumatic experience, effectively resulted in me halting any university plans for the 2015-16 academic year. I wasn’t ready to make such a big step right after being put through an emotional wringer for two years. It was while I was doing “gap year things” — working, taking photographs, entering competitions and shows, that I began to contemplate having my hair cut in January 2016. After all, I’d be moving to Montego Bay in a matter of months. I had no intention of managing so much hair on my own, and where exactly would I, a Kingstonian, go to get it done?

I had initially thought of cutting off two inches of hair. Those “two inches” became “just enough to leave an Afro”. I realised, however, that my primary objective of not having to comb my hair wouldn’t be met in either case. It was then that I thought, “Why don’t I just shave my entire head? And bleach it blonde like Amber Rose? I’ve always loved how that blonde buzz cut looks on her.”

I was scared of going bald, but not scared enough not to entertain the thought.

I never said explicitly that I was contemplating shaving my head. For the next four months I asked my friends how they thought I’d look if I went bald, and I got the most ridiculous responses:

“Your head is going to look bigger!”

“Your forehead is going to look bigger!”

“You’re going to look like a boy!”

“People will think you’re a lesbian!”

The response that disturbed me the most was, “You won’t attract a man if you have short hair, because men find long hair more feminine than short hair.”

Why does everything a woman does have to come back to whether a man will like it or not? I was doing this because I was tired of the upkeep that came with having long hair, and maybe I thought I’d look good bald. I didn’t keep my hair long just so someone’s son would like it. But I digress.

I was finally ready to cut my hair in May 2016, when I saw a man walking around the Total gas station in Liguanea with a star shaved into his head. I told my brother in the car that I was shaving my head and bleaching it blonde. I even dubbed my mission to cut my hair as “Operation Amber Rose”. His 13-year-old plea to leave my hair long and dark was no match for my resolve.

My parents were a little more supportive of my decision to cut my hair, simply offering: “It’s your hair, do what you want with it.”

Other than my immediate household and two close friends, no one knew I was going to have my hair cut. By this time, I had gotten my driver’s licence, climbed the Blue Mountain peak, and had recently started a photography course. I decided that my big chop would be at the end of June as a sort of reward for all that I had done so far.

My mother gave me her hairdresser’s number, and I made the appointment the second-to-last week in June. I even called twice and said exactly what I wanted. I can never forget the questions and incredulous looks I got when I showed up at the salon — with my camera and all — the Tuesday morning.

“You want all of this gone? Are you sure?”

“How much bleach do you want in your hair?”

“Does your mother know you’re doing this?”

“How old are you? Sixteen?”

“Is everything okay at home?”

“Yes. Yes. Enough so that people will know I’m blonde from a distance. Yes. Twenty. Yes.”

I always thought I’d cry if I ever had a haircut, but I ended up laughing the whole time in the chair. It was only when I heard those scissors working, and saw my twists fall from my head onto the floor, that I realised the magnitude of what I had done. My jaw dropped open in a “hurry-up-and-finish-so-I-can-see-what-I-look-like!” kind of way. A shear was taken to my head afterwards, and I quite liked the natural colour of my newly short hair — dark brown. For a moment, I almost told the hairdresser to leave it like that, but Operation Amber Rose wouldn’t be complete. I braved the bleach and dryer, and absolutely fell in love with the end result. The other women in the salon liked it too, commenting that the cut really suited me, and that I was brave for having at least twenty inches of hair cut all at once.

I took lots of pictures at the salon. I sent them to my friends and my mother, who sang nothing but praises on WhatsApp. I quietly posted the rest of the pictures on almost every social media account I had when I got home. The responses I got were anything but quiet. I got very positive feedback from everyone, after the initial shock wore off of me having virtually no hair. My father nearly walked out the door (as he walked through it!) when he came home and saw me that night. He later found the courage to come in, and after taking a look at my hair up close, decided that he liked it. The only person who didn’t like my cut was my brother, who called me all manner of names, including “sponge head” and “sweet corn” in the last two months I was at home.

Having such a drastic haircut has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I love the freedom that short hair has given me. I don’t have to sleep in ridiculous-looking satin bonnets anymore, and I can swim without psyching myself up to comb my hair out later. All I do is use a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, and oil my scalp as often as I want. I also get trimmed and lined up as my hair grows out. To any woman who’s thinking of doing a big chop: DO IT. Don’t be shallow in thinking that long, straight hair will make you a bombshell, or accepted. And if you do decide to take the plunge, I sincerely hope your decision will be as liberating and as fulfilling as mine was. Selah.

Rachael McIntosh is a 20-year-old Digital Media Production student at the University of the West Indies, Mona — Western Jamaica Campus.