"When I was a toddler, family and strangers alike would fawn over my crown of golden locks. I was often mistaken for a little girl. Then as I grew up, my parents to save money honed their craft as amateur hairdressers, with themselves, my two older brothers and I their sole clientele. They only took walk-ins, the small talk was awkward and intrusive, the reviews average at best."
"I often finished the job, trimming stray hairs around my ears with a pair of nail scissors. I didn't visit a proper hairdresser until I was in my late teens. The first one I saw was my mother's, an intimidatingly attractive and extroverted woman who described my hair to me and my mother as pubey. To be truthful, I never had a chance."
"As a child, I had a compulsion to twist strands of hair into knotted little clumps, then rip them out when I was unable to detangle them. I've now learned that this is a disordered behaviour called trichotillomania. I once required an emergency buzzcut when I managed to get a wad of bubblegum caught in my hair, after trying to replicate the behind-the-ear storage technique of Violet Beauregarde from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."
A childhood marked by a crown of golden hair drew attention and frequent misgendering. Cost-saving parental haircuts created awkward experiences and imperfect results, prompting nervous bathroom inspections and amateur touch-ups with nail scissors. A first professional haircut included an unkind description of the hair as pubey. Genetic hair thinning and early baldness appeared among male relatives. Compulsive hair-twisting and ripping developed into trichotillomania. A bubblegum mishap required an emergency buzzcut. Participation in a public charity shave involved an amateur clipping that left the scalp blotchy and sore, reducing the novelty quickly.
Read at www.theguardian.com
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