why labels are pointless

I have often wondered about the need to label people. Is it human nature to group people in categories to better understand them? For example, I can be labeled as a Latina, Mexican, Chicana, Mexican American, Hispanic, etc. But none of those labels define me. I am much more than all of those labels suggest.

I didn’t realize this until this weekend, but I had given my hairstylist a label. I labeled him as gay. A lot of my friends can be labeled as such even though I know they are much more than just gay. However, Gary really tested me.

For as long as I’ve known Gary, he’s preferred the company of men. When he first started doing my hair, he was a hardcore party guy, going out every other day, meeting new people left and right. Gary was the life of the party everywhere he went and guys were attracted to him like moths to a flame. Obviously, he relished the attention.

Gary and I have known each other for over 4 years now and he’s grown up a lot in that time. He doesn’t go out nearly as often as before. He saves his money, although he does make the occasional extravagant Prada purchase. But he’s calmed down a lot both personally and romantically. He’s tried to stay away from unhealthy relationships and he is making better choices in his life. I’m proud of him for his turn-around.

I was sitting in his chair while he trimmed my hair this weekend. I had just finished updating him on what was going on in my life. Because I was over talking about my drama, I asked Gary to let me know what was up with him. He said, “I’m dating someone. Someone different.” I asked, “Really? How so?” Gary said, “Well, I’m seeing a girl.” My jaw dropped. Incredulous, I asked, “You are? Seriously?” Gary replied with a chuckle, “Yeah, I am. I’m growing up and looking to settle down. I’m not getting any younger.” Now would be a good time to tell you that Gary is my age. Still shocked, I asked him, “How?” What I really wanted to ask was “How is this possible?” Gary replied, “Well, I knew that she was into me. I’ve known her forever. And the other day, we took it to the next level.” Hmmm…I had trouble processing this information. How could a life-long gay man just flip a switch and not be gay?

After confirming that alcohol had nothing to do with this hook-up, I asked him, “How serious is this?” He answered, “We’re taking it one day at a time.” I still wasn’t getting it but I wanted to understand. So the 20 questions continued. “Ok,” I said, “What if another opportunity presented itself, one that was too good to pass up, would you take it regardless of whether the opportunity is a man or a woman?” Gary replied, “Yup, it doesn’t matter.”

Gary then proceeded to reiterate the sentiment that he is getting older and feels a need to settle down. He wants to get married some day and maybe have children. I started to get the impression that he was with this girl because of these societal pressures, both of which are not easily granted to gay men. Perhaps he wanted to take the easy way out.

Finally, I spoke my mind. I uttered the words that I had been thinking the whole time he was telling me his story. I said, “But you’re gay!” With a maturity that I clearly had not yet attained, Gary answered, “I’m not ‘gay.’ And I’m not ‘straight.’ Why can’t I just be me? I’m just being Gary.”

I sat in his chair and nodded my head. He was right. For some reason, I felt the need to put Gary in a box labeled ‘Gay.’ Gary has the right to be with whomever he wants to be with and I am certainly not in a place to judge. Besides, he’s my friend. I accept him as who he is, whether this is a phase or not.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Gary stopped and looked at me in the mirror intensely. Then he said, “Let’s hope this doesn’t affect the way I do your hair.” We both laughed heartily, dismissing the stereotype that all good stylists are gay.

Mine just is who he is.

therapy is the new black

My longest relationship with a man in DC has not been with Jesse, my current boo. It has been with Gary, my hairstylist since I moved here. And if you think I’m faithful to Jesse, than you better believe that I would never, ever cheat on Gary. I have no reason to. He’s awesome in every way.

I transferred to a downtown Crap store when I first moved here to keep the moola coming in. During my first week, I met Gary, a sales associate. As I was introducing myself, he sized me up and down and said, “I have a vision for your hair.” No hi or welcome. I was a bit weirded out. He continued, “Well, I’m just looking at you now and I can see all the possibilities for your hair.” It was true that my shoulder-length bob was growing out, but this guy didn’t even know my name and he wanted to cut my hair. Was it that obvious that my layers were growing out? Not wanting to appear offended, I asked him if he worked in a salon and what he charged, information he was more than happy to divulge. And then I forgot about it.

On a random day off, I was strolling through Georgetown and decided that my bob desperately needed a trim. So I walked into a salon that welcomed walk-ins and asked for a trim. The girl at the front desk directed me to an empty chair and a guy suddenly appeared behind me. I explained to him what it was that I wanted (the bob still had shape, I just needed a trim and the layers needed some refreshing) and he looked confused. He turned to the girl at the front desk and asked her to translate. Apparently he was French and didn’t know much English yet (at least he didn’t understand the words, “I just need a trim”). I was nervous that he didn’t understand a trim request. A feeling of dread suddenly came over me.

Before I knew it, I got a bowl haircut. The bob was gone. The layers were non-existent as he had cut my hair the same length as the longest layer. And I looked as if I belonged in grade school. I was nearly in tears when I walked out of the salon. When I got back to the place I was staying at, I looked in the mirror and tried to style it in different ways to minimize the bowl shape of my head. I consoled myself by saying, “It’ll grow back.”

I went to work the next day not quite sure what to do with my hair. I just left it alone and prayed that it would grow back quickly. Some time during my shift, Gary showed up for his. He took one look at me and said with much concern, “Oh no! What did they do to you?” I nearly broke down right there. I told him about the evil French stylist and how he didn’t understand the word “trim.” I told him about how sad I felt, but I was hopeful that my hair would grow back eventually. He listened to every word I said and told me, “Come by my salon tomorrow and I will fix it.” Needless to say, I took him up on that offer.

The next day, I showed up at Gary’s salon not knowing what to expect. He sat me down and said, “Just so you know, in order to fix this, I have to go shorter. I promise you’ll like it.” At this point, anything was better than the hair bowl on my head. Without reservation, I replied, “Ok, just do what you gotta do.” In the end, my hair was far more stylish and far less bowl-shaped. But it was short. So short that a small part of the back of my head was shaved. I had some misgivings. However, the cut was still better than what I had.

I headed straight to work after my appointment and was bombarded with compliments. Even customers wanted to know who had done my hair. I referred everyone to Gary. Gary got so many customer referrals from me that he ended up setting me up with my own price for hair cuts. And obviously, I haven’t seen anyone else for a hair cut since.

As my hair has changed over the years, so have I and Gary has been there with me every step of the way. Even after we stopped working together at the Crap, I would visit him at the salon or hang out with him or chat on the phone. I suppose that the nature of his job requires that he be a good listener, but he also gives great advice and I’m always anxious to tell him my stories at every visit.

Last weekend, I saw Gary for a trim right before the wedding I went to this past weekend. He asked me, “So what’s new in your life?” And I stalled for a bit, not knowing whether or not I should tell him about the shrink. I was afraid he might judge me even though he never has in the past. I decided to come clean. “Well,” I said slowly, “I’ve started seeing a shrink.” Gary’s response was: “Oh really! Damn, I want one. Everyone has one these days. Therapy is the new black!” We had a good laugh and I was relieved.

I’m not sure why I feared that Gary would judge me. Mental illness carries such a stigma and I know that it will be a long time before seeking treatment for mental illness will be as socially accepted as seeking treatment for any physiological disease. It really shouldn’t matter to me what other people think. And if these people are truly my friends, they would be unconditionally supportive.

I guess I would be disappointed to find out who amongst my friends truly isn’t a friend at all.

i really do hate being a girl sometimes

Occasionally (once a month usually), I envy boys. Guys really do have it easy. First off, the world is their urinal. Sometimes I wish, that if it were truly necessary, I can pee just about anywhere. I suppose that’s technically possible now, but it’s impossible to do so and not get stuff on you.

Secondly, we have boobs (actually, some boys have boobs too, but that’s a whole other post). If you’re like me, you have D’s that are always in the way. I hate that I can’t wear a button down shirt without a camisole underneath. Why? Because I can’t button the buttons at the boobs. It seriously cuts down on my work outfit possibilities. Additionally, it forces me to shell out even more money for clothes because I need to buy a camisole whenever I buy a shirt. I guess I could wear a minimizer bra, but I’ve never seen one that was fashionable and visually appealing (after all, I have a boyfriend to please).

Another thing about boobs—I hate that they bounce when I move. This morning, as I was walking towards the office, I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass door and thought, Wow, they’re especially jiggly today. The bounciness is definitely a problem at the gym. First of all, they need to be positioned correctly in the sports bra in order to keep movement to a minimum. Secondly, that is still no guarantee of non-movement, especially on the elliptical. Fortunately for them, boys don’t have to worry about this.

No dressy woman’s outfit is complete without heels. Why is it that the sexiest shoe known to man (the stiletto) is also the most painful (clearly a man must’ve designed them)? Sure we could wear flats to work. But wouldn’t you agree that a heeled shoe looks best with skirts and trousers? Meanwhile, men get to walk around in flats every single day of the year. So not fair.

Sometimes I wish I could look good bald. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about styling my hair on days like this. All guys have to do is wash their hair and maybe run some product through it. Styling time: approximately 15 seconds (unless you’re Jesse and beautifully hairless so that your styling time would be zero). Girls have to wash their hair, apply volumizer, blow dry, style, and apply product to hold. Styling time: 20-30 minutes (depending on whether or not a flat iron is used).

Sure, being a boy can suck too (especially if you’re a boy with manboobs), but this is my pity party and boys aren’t allowed. Only girls can understand what I’m feeling right now. Besides, a girl wouldn’t accuse me of being hormonal (or PMS-ing) right now like a boy would.

On second thought, I don’t want to be a boy.

just how fun are brunettes anyways?

Last night, I made the final decision to change. Since I moved to DC, I have experienced many different hair makeovers, but the one that has remained the same is my hair color. Before moving here, I added red highlights to my blond highlights and my tresses have been tri-colored for years. Considering that my hair had been super short for the majority of my time in DC, the color really accentuated the cut. But now that my hair is the longest its been in several years (it's finally just beyond shoulder length), the color really doesn't do anything for the cut. So, I'm going with chestnut brown with blonde highlights. I'll let you all know how it turns out as soon as I get it done (hopefully some time this week).

If you know me, then you know that my hair is very important to me. I'm the kind of person who buys those $15 shampoos and $20 hairsprays (non-aerosol, of course) and $30 hair wax because ithey're supposed to be better and I don't want to take my chances. You know how guys are stereotypically into their cars and are preoccupied with taking care of 'em, waxing 'em and doing preventative maintenance and having the best stereo and speakers and spoilers and whatever. Well, that's the way I am with my hair.

Because my boyfriend has to look at me everyday, I asked him what he thought of my decision. He said, "It's just hair. When it's all said and done, it's still you." Awww...isn't he sweet?