Do the Thing: My Demi Moore Moment

(From a few years back)

You know, that moment in G.I. Jane, when she shaves her head. She’s struggling with fitting into a man’s world, living up to their expectations. She’s tired of putting up with their bullshit, their judgment, their roadblocks. So she decides to take matters into her own hands, as she’s taken everything else up to that point. Her life, her fate, her health, her identity. Now, with one swoop of an electric razor, she does it again, in a very visceral, physical way. It is symbolic and wonderful and amazing. 

That’s not quite what I did, but close. 

I have been considering change for quite some time. I have always entertained the idea of doing something crazy with my hair and otherwise. But I have never quite had the guts. I have talked about dyeing, red, then purple, then blue, then blue-green. But the best I that could bring myself to do was auburn once a million years ago and blond streaks during my dating heyday. 

Yet recently, I found myself looking up crazy colors again, even picking up a few bottles of bright rainbow colored dye at the store the other day. 

But then I put them back down. 

“It doesn’t suit me,” I said. What would everyone think? I thought. 

I always think that. The little voice enters into my head, whispering about the judgments, the curious looks, the expectations. Everyone expects me to be so good, so nice, so clean cut, so smart. To those around me - more accurately, to the imaginary gremlins in my head - I am too goodie goodie for crazy shit like that, for color, for over the top, for edgy. It doesn’t suit me. 

But then why have I wanted it for so long? Why have I agonized over tattoos and hair colors? Why can I not seem to step over the line and just do it already?

Here’s why. Those darn voices of reason in my head. More like voices of fear. Fear of not being perfect. Fear of not succeeding in what I am doing (writing), fear of having to eventually go back to a “real” job that might not like colored hair or visible tattoos. It was and is fear. 

I have it in spades. 

I used to not mind being the center of attention. But it was always for being smart, pretty, fun, easy to talk to. Now I might actually be critically scrutinized, disliked for what I looked like and, even more so, for what I personified - the courage to be an individual, to take risks, and make choices based on want rather than expectation.

Even up to the end, I doddled. I sectioned off the hair to be cut and agonized, seeking unasked permission and approval from my then husband. He kindly, knowingly, kept quiet, supportive of whatever I decided to do. I went back into the bathroom, gut wrenched with terror. I gazed into the mirror, picked up the electric razor with my right hand, the section of hair in question clutched in my left. Heart racing, I took a shallow breath, turned on the razor, and cut a big swath off before I could back out.

Wow. 

It was freeing and terrifying and unnerving. It was worrisome, liberating, and awesome. 

With a few more buzzes, I polished up the spot no larger than a credit card on the left side of my head below my temple. I was partially bald. 

Wow, it looked really obvious. I had cut it with the razor at setting zero, not wanting to take the time to fiddle with the attachment, knowing I could so easily lose my nerve. It would grow back soon, right?

I spent the rest of the day amazed at my choice, amazed at my gutsiness, and partly sickened by the drastic change. I looked SO DIFFERENT. I felt so different. So changed. But in more ways than just appearance. I had done it. But it wasn’t enough. It was only the tip of the iceberg. 

That evening, I cut off more, still scared but wanting it to look more intentional, less of an accident. That made it final. I was really partially bald. 

Well, okay, cutting hair wasn’t final, but it was a start. A start to a new way of living, with less fear, more guts. For actually doing things I wanted to do, not worrying so much about the repercussions, the impressions, the opinions. 

I had my Demi Moore moment. I felt empowered, I feel empowered, finally taking my own fate into my own hands, at least as much as I am able to. 

Next stop, tattoo parlor.