January 28, 2013 | Hair

Five minutes ago I had an itch on my head. Just like any other itch, this itch demanded that I reach my fingers up and, making sure not to use nails (it can be tempting) give that spot a good rub. It was a good itch.

I just so happened to look down at my fingers afterward, perhaps to thank them for relieving the itch. My hand was covered in a big clump of hair. Now, no matter how much you are prepared for the fact that your hair will be falling out this week, the first sighting of a hair-covered hand is still a shock.

I’ve been meaning to write about hair for a while now, and it seems like a fitting time to do so. Even before this experience, friends and family can attest to the fact that I have always hated the way something as futile and dead as hair can define people. I hated the way people thought they were able to hide behind it – that you could hide a face between shocks of hair and it really doesn’t matter how your face looks – no, almost certainly it’s the dead follicles around it that people will notice first.

This was a major reason why I thought it would be fun to try cutting my hair off before in my life. And dying it, dreadlocking it, straightening it (a mistake), having it torn at twice in West Africa to experiment with fake braids, etc. I guess if there was one style I never thought I would electively try though, it was baldness.

--It’s lucky I don’t need to try this particular style quite yet, that comes with chemotherapy. No, this new style, I have been informed by doctors and nurses, is likely to be a permanent “extreme receding hairline”, a hardy patch left on top while the rest of it just disappears…

Lucky I’ve always been experimental, I think. Lucky it’s me and not some other 21-year-old female who absolutely must have their hair. I’m not thrilled, but I’ll take it (I will also take the grant for headwear and wigs of about $2300 from the New Zealand government, though, thank you!).

I am reminded now that not everyone has the fortune of having hair. There are many out there with, beyond cancer, medical conditions with which they have trouble growing hair. It’s like the reminder that not everyone can have children – you don’t exactly want to be surrounded by a whole lot of mothers and babies when you can’t have children. You can, to an extent, avoid this situation…but there is no way to avoid people with hair.

Sometimes when a bout of “unfairness thoughts” hits me, it can be tempting to say to people going on with their regular lives who don’t look grateful for their existence nasty things like “hey, celebrate, you don’t have cancer,” or something awful like, “hey, you have hair, how wonderful!” But this, of course, would never happen (since being with James I have learnt more etiquette than that). Some animals don’t have hair anyway, think of them! Okay, well most do, but what about the poor little Sphynx? He doesn’t need a hair straightener or dye, or whatever other contraption hair needs, no he’s quite content to let people love him for his lack of fluff.

I really am not sure what I am trying to say about hair here. Is this an ode to my hair that has been coming out as I have been writing? Nope, this is something I can cope with. Is this to make all you hairy people out there feel bad about taking for granted of having hair? That is far from it. Then what am I trying to say?

Perhaps, yes, it is a farewell to that hair. I only hope that people I see each day can have the decency to respect this different hairstyle of mine emerging, and only hope that James, although he will try to pretend not to care, will come to learn that beauty is so much more than dead follicles. In fact it’s really for myself, the final test in a lifetime of hairstyles to see if I really don’t care like I have tried to prove I didn’t.