What being bald has taught me
Submitted by jcht2010 on
By Jessica Coleman
Staff Writer
I’ve learned a few things in the couple of weeks that have passed since I shaved my head for the St. Baldrick’s Foundation. I’ve learned some things about myself, and I’ve learned some things about what our appearance tells other people about us. I’ve also learned that people, by and large, are a lot less judgmental than I gave them credit for.
I actually don’t hate it. I kind of expected to not really like the way it looked, but it was for a great cause and my laziness outweighs my vanity every day of the week, and the 20 extra minutes of sleep absolutely makes up for any lack of aesthetic appeal. I don’t hate it. In fact, I kind of dig it.
My husband is not a huge fan. In fact when I told him I was going to shave my head he gave me the same look a fat, spoiled house cat gives you if you put a sweater on it. However, Brian Coleman has never been the type to try to put a fence around me (one of the many reasons I love him) so he just shrugged his shoulders and dismissed it as me being me, and returned to his normal-person activities. He is truly the Greg to my Dharma.
I guess the most surprising reactions come from complete strangers. Not one person has been rude, and I am either oblivious to the world around me (a very real possibility) or I haven’t gotten any snobby, judgmental, looks either. No pearls have been clutched as a result of my presence or my hair’s absence.
There is a confidence people assume you have, that you in turn feel, when you’re a woman that is bald. If they don’t assume you are suffering from some ailment (I have gotten the “sad eyes” once or twice), they assume you are confident at the very least.
Ah, yes, look at me, I think, a strong, confident woman. The type of woman who would shave her head. Hear me roar! I am empowered. I am free from the shackles of vanity and societal pressure to be traditionally beautiful. I am...
Cold.
I am so cold. My head is always freezing. I can’t feel my ears (the uneven ones I’ve had to make peace with since losing their hiding spot to a pair of clippers). I just kind of assume they’re still there because I can hear the keyboard clicking as I type this, and because my earrings haven’t fallen into my lap.
With no hair to protect them, the cool office air is absolutely biting, partly because Jackie the office manager has to have it set at, like, four degrees in here at all times, and apparently “But I’m bald,” and “But sweaty armpits would be a great look on you” are not valid reasons to keep it tropically warm in here for my comfort.
I’d wear a hat, but I have to kind of put a beanie on top of my head and roll it down, because the fuzz that’s growing back acts like velcro. There’s no adjusting a hat once it’s on. If I have an itch on my head, which I always do, by the way, I have to take the hat completely off before scratching and then starting over.
Back to the itching – It is both urgent and incessant. As hair grows back, it itches like crazy. However, scratching it is immensely, indescribably satisfying. There’s something about scratching a scantily-covered head that is absolute heaven.
now, it’s grown back to stubble. I had some pictures made to remember the occasion by. Soon, “that time I shaved my head” will just be another memory in the Book of Jessica, right beside “that time I brought home 14 puppies for the sixth time and Brian didn’t shoot me for whatever reason,” and “that time I cried over dead tadpoles because I really thought I could save them.” It will be another chapter of my life to describe to my grandchildren at Thanksgiving dinner.
It isn’t really a hair style I would have tried otherwise, but I am so, so glad I did. I’ve not only had positive experiences, I’ve gotten to know myself a little better, I’ve donated 12 inches of hair to Children with Hair loss, and raised over $500 for pediatric cancer research. I have exactly zero regrets.
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