Walk Like a Man, Talk Like a Man
Yesterday I went to get “my ears lowered,” as my dad would say. After four weeks my hair was tickling the sides of my neck to the point where I was about to tear it out in frustration and annoyance so the haircut was a welcome relief.
I went to a different Korean hair salon and this time the woman gave me exactly what I asked for, even though she, like every other Korean person ever, was mystified by my desire to look like a boy.
Initially she thought I didn’t speak Korean (granted, she’s half right because aside from general conversation, I suck) because she didn’t think I was Asian. The first ten minutes were awkward as we tried to communicate with each other in English. It isn’t that her English is bad, but a common language is more than just words: it’s a type of common thinking as well. So I switched to Korean and it was much easier, except I ran into the same problem as the last time.
JJ: I would like to trim my hair and make it short like a boy’s please.
Hairstylist: …
JJ: You know…cutting it? Trimming it? (mimes motions)
Hairstylist: Why…exactly?
JJ: …because I like it that way?
She understood my directions much better once I reverted to our mutual tongue, but started to give me good-natured crap about it. (That is the way of us, I am afraid.)
Hairstylist: (clucks) Your mother must be despairing over this. You’ll never get married with short hair.
JJ: …
Hairstylist: How did you get my name anyway?
JJ: Well, my mother is the one who recommended you. She doesn’t mind the hair, actually. And I, uh, have a [boyfriend/]fiancé.*
Hairstylist: And what does [he] think about it?
JJ: [He] likes it.
Hairstylist: …
JJ: [He]‘s American.
Hairstylist: Oh. (has dubious thoughts about those Westerners and their strange sexual habits)
* I used the word e-in, which is equivalent to the Japanese koibito. Koreans and Japanese will use literal translation of “boyfriend” (namja chingu in Korean) for something less serious. Being as Bear actually proposed and we are indeed serious (has it almost been three years already?), I thought it appropriate. Unfortunately, e-in is gender neutral and while Margaret Cho’s mother says “everybody little bit gay…BUT NOT IN KOREA!” the stylist was probably wondering if I was talking about a woman. The brackets are there to denote that there is actually no possible way to know I was talking about a boy.
Thankfully in the end, with minimal hesitation and no second-guessing, she gave me the cut I wanted, but with beauty and fashion tips to go with it so that I may avoid “looking like a tomboy.” I gave up trying to impress upon these Asians that looking like a tomboy is just fine by me. However, I did manage to score a small victory as I left.
Girl at Register: Your hair is, uh…(struggles to be polite) very unusual.
JJ: (happily) Thanks!
Girl at Register: I guess you did it to look older. You look very young.
JJ: (mentally tells her that this is not news as she is constantly told she looks like she’s underage)
Girl at Register: (contemplates) You know though, it actually suits you pretty well.
Success!
I know that long beautiful hair is an archetypal symbol of femininity, but Wicked Cool Riley also tells me that thick, luxurious hair also signals fertility. o.O Clearly I am not meant to be a mother. I like being Goethe’s androgyne Mignon from Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre, thankyouverymuch.
I find it interesting that both Bear and my dad prefer their women with short hair, but my mother and brother do not. I could probably delve into that a bit more, but that brings up icky psychosexual things about my parents about which I would prefer not to think. Not that they’re icky, but the thought of my parents as sexual beings is.
Bluetourmaline has very kindly sent me a long critique on the first couple of chapters of my novel which was very illuminating. Upon reading her comments, I came to an interesting conclusion about the men I love (not sexually or romantically, just love in general): they are insensitive, condescending, arrogant, and self-centered. Some of them have hidden hearts of gold, others have deeply sinister motives. In other words, I love me some Evil. But not The Bad Boy.
Which is funny in light of the fact that I was never a big fan of “the hot asshole” in high school. In every romantic comedy, I am rooting for “the best friend” or “the nice guy” (why doesn’t Andie go for Duckie in Pretty in Pink? Why???) and in my real life, my Teddy Bear is my best friend and pillar (pillow too, har) of support. Yet the superficial qualities of a bona-fide jerk are very attractive to me.
I don’t think it’s sexual. It’s very much a sort of bemused fondness, even tenderness at times, because these people interest and amuse me. A lot. Even though they probably shouldn’t. Maybe I see a little of myself in all of them because I can be a heinous bitch: I am definitely self-centered and condescending. But maybe it’s also because I’ve never been hurt by insensitivity. I grew up blissfully thinking I’d never been teased in my life until my best friend Mandu disabused me of that notion.
“What are you talking about? I teased you all the time! You just didn’t notice.”
Possibly very true. I’ve also never been one to care much about what people thought of me personally. As long as I was smart, competent, and efficient, I didn’t give a damn if they thought I was stupid, ugly, and fat. I’ve always known better. I realise that many of my characters also possess this quality of “not caring” or perhaps more truthfully, obliviousness. Alistair is the only one of my characters who is sensitive to insults. Ah, the wangsty emo kid. I love him (generally it’s a him) too.
But only on the page. And probably only when I write him. I dislike the emo kid in person and in other mediums; most of time I just want slap him upside the head and tell him to “give it rest and suck it up, man. It’s not all about you.”
Sarah Rees Brennan writes about how Colin Craven from The Secret Garden ruined her for other men and I think he might have had a similar influence on me as a child. While I adored Dickon and would probably root for Dickon should he star in a romantic comedy, it was Colin with his insensitive, immature, childish tantrums and imperious manner who captured my interest. He was fascinating. Unlikeable, but fascinating. In addition to being an Insensitive and Selfish Git, he was also the Wangsty Emo Boy with daddy issues and look, Colin Craven has become the distillation of JJ’s Perfect Literary Man. Except not really. I would never, EVER fall in love with Colin, on the page or in real life, but his magnetism and charisma left an indelible mark on my young psyche.
(I have fallen in love with, and written essays detailing my passion for the following romantic heroes: Robin Hood, King Arthur but not Lancelot, GILBERT FUCKING BLYTHE, Laurie, Faramir, and Mr. Knightley. Ostensibly, none of them are particularly known for being Assholes.)
Anyway, I am motivated to start writing. Tomorrow Bex and I will be spending a day writing and critiquing at The Grey Dog in the West Village. It will be glorious.
