My great-grandson we nicknamed CEO got his first haircut last week during a family trip to Disney World. He will be a year old in December and is one of the most adorable toddlers on earth. Lest you think I am biased on a generational basis, he is my bonus great-grandson, so genetics don’t factor into the equation. As the fourth child in the family, he might have been treated like an after-thought by his older siblings, but they dote on him so he gets into their business with impunity.
Aside from a happy-go-lucky personality that’s usually on full display on his smiling face, one of CEO’s most noticeable features is his hair. He was born with a full head of it, thick, black hair that has turned light brown as he’s racing through his first year on earth. Until last week, it was long and curly and shiny, causing him to be routinely mistaken for a girl. Au contraire, he is all boy, as people of my generation like to say. He’s now sporting a mullet, a 1970s hairstyle coming back into popularity. Apparently, everything old is new again, whether we liked it or not.
Seeing the photos of that first haircut on Facebook, I started thinking about my hair. It’s always been fine and thin; statins and age haven’t helped. My stylist, Barb, does the best she can, but there’s literally just so little to work with. Judicious use of hair products does help a bit, but I love wearing hats, which are really the best solution for this vexing problem.
According to Wikipedia, hair is a protein filament that grows from follicles found in skin. It is one of the most defining characteristics of mammals, often used by people to indicate personal belief, social position, age or gender. Since time immemorial, humans have been obsessed with these strands of fibrous filament that cover our bodies, especially the ones that grow on our heads.
Proof is that hair has long been the subject of literature and legend. Eve used her long tresses as clothing in the Garden of Eden. Cleopatra shaved her head but donned a black wig to seduce Mark Antony. Leah fooled Jacob into marrying her by covering her face and tricking him into consummating their marriage when he mistook her hair for that of his beloved Rachel. Delilah did in Sampson by cutting off his long curls. Lady Godiva, seated upon her horse, strategically arranged her locks to cover her modesty.
There are so many more examples. May I suggest you bring up this topic at your next coffee klatch or dinner party? It could be hours before your guests come up for hair, I mean air.
Wikipedia lists over 40 songs about hair: “Cookie Cookie, Lend Me Your Comb,” “San Francisco: Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair,” “Silver Haired Daddy of Mine,” “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair” and “Lady Godiva” are a few I recognize. Not at all familiar are these gems: “I Think I’m Going Bald,” “Pull My Hair,” “Ain’t Got No Hair,” and one I absolutely must check out on YouTube: “Who Found Whose Hair in Whose Bed?”
Nowhere do we see the topic of hair appear more often than in dramatic productions. Mary Martin really started something with “I’m Gonna Wash that Man Right Outa My Hair: in “South Pacific.” Practically everyone reading this must remember the 1960 nudie musical “Hair.”
I myself enjoyed the film version of the 2002 Tony Best Musical “Hairspray,” and “Barbershop” took in $77 million at the box office that year. It was so successful it spawned a sequel and female version “Hair Show” two years later. “Hair Show” was a dud, but “Beauty Shop” earned $40 million in 2005.
Four years later, Chris’s Rock’s “Good Hair” wasn’t all that good. I haven’t seen the Disney attempt to cash in on the hair theme “Bad Hair Day,” but I have to wonder. Is Disney trying to give every kid over 3 an inferiority complex, or is it to sell overpriced haircuts to tourists?
All right. I admit hair is an issue here at Otter Run. My spouse is in his 80s, with a full head of hair and full beard. That means his gray fibers clog our bathroom drains on a regular basis; my longer dark brown (OK, tinted) strands, not so much. Still, I’m envious, not angry. No matter how much product I apply or how deftly I use my curling iron, I’m not happy with my hair. Maybe it’s time to take a page from Cleopatra’s playbook.
Kathleen Marsh is a lifelong educator, writer, and community advocate. She has published eight books, four on the history of Townsend, where she and husband Jon are happily retired on the beautiful Townsend Flowage.
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