[1] Two days ago I was challenged to pick an object and describe it in sentences that didn’t build off each other. We could choose any object to write about so I chose the crumpled up black hair laying next to my computer. I cannot tell you why I chose to write about this crumpled up hair laying next to my computer but what I can tell you is that I was too afraid to move it because I don’t like touching crumpled up black hair, especially crumpled up black hair that isn’t mine.
[2] This is what I wrote:
“There is a hair. Hair can be curly or straight. This hair is not very long and it’s just kind of crumpled up next to my laptop. I don’t like when there is hair in my food. I’m writing in the same handwriting I used during a time in my life where I would have freaked out if this hair were in my food. I wonder who this hair used to belong to. In German, the word for hair is “Haare” but it translates to “hairs” and I think it’s funny to consider how much hair I have.”
[3] At a time during my early 20s when coffee with friends has suddenly morphed into discussions about male pattern baldness or vague future plans to travel to Turkey or Beverly Hills for hair transplant surgery, I am glad that people regularly point out how much hair I have. It reaffirms my lack of inclination to engage in medical tourism in places like Turkey or Beverly Hills — freeing up time to write journal entries like this:
[4] “Perspective might be my greatest asset. Seeing the leaves fall from this tree has reminded me of how cold my head would be if I ever chose to start balding. Good thing I haven’t consented. I’m almost left speechless, except, not at all. My parting words are the following: to all trees, a good night, and to all bald heads, a hat sale at Bloomingdale’s.”
[5] When I was four-years-old, I had no hair. I buzzed all my hair off, and — yes — I did buzz my hair for militaristic purposes. This was a decree of war against my hair and the way it looked when I woke up in the morning. I had no interest in dealing with “bed head” and thought the idea of showering each morning to rid myself of bed head was a frivolous endeavour.
[6] At 22, my hair is long and entirely unmanageable, perhaps an ‘f-you’ to my utilitarian, four-year-old self. I have to shower every morning so that it stays in place and looks less greasy. If I do not do this, I get comments that I look like a music producer who was freshly canceled and not only decided to let the cancellation go, but his appearance.
[7] In an effort to tame my long hair, my friend recently gifted me a hair tie, only to explain that wearing ‘man buns’ can lead to receding hairlines. All this, just when I thought I was in the clear on hair transplant surgery.