Like most people, I lived most of my life in relative ignorance, not knowing, and frankly not caring, what the back of my head looks like. And I was perfectly okay with that.
The front of my hair is safe, it’s familiar. While it might not always be perfect, I always know what to expect and can often take action to bend the strands to my will. The back of my head, though? The back of my head was frankly none of my business – until now.
It happened when I was out at a bar, enjoying spending some time with my friends. I stepped into the bathroom and encountered a dreaded mirror-facing-another-mirror situation and my life spiraled out of control. I was simply washing my hands when I looked up and, boom: the back of my head.
I wasn’t able to prepare myself for what I might see.
At first, I thought, “Is that a rough strip of grass on a craggy, otherwise barren mountaintop?” And then I thought, “That person’s having a tough day, hair-wise.” And then I thought, “Oh, fuck. That’s me.”
Patchy. “Patchy” is a word I would use to describe the back of my head. Also, “off-putting.”
After glimpsing something of such a grotesque nature as that, it’s hard to continue living, let alone carry on with your evening, especially when you’re out in public, having a supposedly “nice time” with your friends. But, there I was, in the bar bathroom, paralyzed by my nauseating revelation, unsure of my next move.
My hair was out of order, and out of my control.
In situations like these, you pretty much have one of two options: to accept defeat and re-enter the world, painfully aware of what the people behind you are being subjected to, or to attempt some sort of hair-triage in the restroom, salvaging the pieces of hair which can be saved, and condemning the rest to some sort of half-hearted up-do that says, “I need to pretend like I have a semblance of control over my life.”
While I can respect a certain degree of nonconformity, and the concept of not being afraid to stand out from the crowd, the back of my head was doing so in a way that could only be described as defiantly unruly, and honestly kind of bitchy.
So, after considering slicking the back of my hair into a bun and slinking back out of the bathroom in shame, I decided to beat the other half of my head at its own game, and to embrace the absolute train-wreck that was happening behind my ears.
I chose to leave my hair untouched, and to bravely step out of the bathroom, silently declaring, “This is who I am, this is what I stand for, this is the back of my head.”
And I never looked back. Literally.
