I have a list of complaints about hair.

  1. Man buns
  2. Super long hair on women
  3. Men who have a 3 day growth of beard every damn day
  4. Half shaved heads
  5. I reserve the right to complain about any other hair issue I encounter in the future. I feel justified in this because my hair is perfect.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “hair.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

7 thoughts on “Hair”

  1. The word “hair” conjures a whole host of images. Animals from gorillas to even spiders have hair. What we know about prehistoric humans indicates hair was important, especially for warmth during cold months. European men and women were so enamored by hair in times past that they wore elaborate and not-so-elaborate wigs. Facial hair for men comes and goes in fashion. In some religions male facial hair, as in beards, is a most important mark of piety. Sikh males are recognized by the turbans that contain the head of hair never shorn. Unkempt hair is a mark of poverty or mental illness. And then there’s the hairlessness brought on by chemotherapy and charitable people who donate their hair to reduce costs of wigs for those in that state. Thinking of hair demands that we humans always see ourselves as the same and yet different.

  2. I have a list of complaints about hair.

    1. The dreaded man bun (hipsters, you need to stop with the man bun);
    2. The comb-over (a la Rudy Giuliani), it’s hideous;
    3. When a man is balding in front but still insists on wearing a ponytail (The Michael Bolton);
    4. Men who sport perfectly-waxed chests (did you forget you’re a GUY?);
    5. Men who spend more time on their hair than I spend on mine;
    6. Men who dye/darken their beards in an effort to look younger.

    I could go on for days.

  3. The longest , prettiest tresses , ever seen on the planet were those that were never seen . It belonged to nuns who taught me in my primary and high school , and kept it all neatly pinned into obedient buns , unseen , hidden behind a veil . That was one of the first lessons in contradictions of life for me .

    Another event that shaped my opinion was the day we were asked to collect colourful sarees for a cultural event . The sarees , tagged , numbered , were lying in a heap on the table . A gaggle of nuns entered the classroom , and excitedly talking in their native tongue , shifted through the colourful fabrics . Bright eyed and loquacious , one of them went ahead and wrapped one of the best , zari-bordered one , around her waist . There was a stunned silence . The nun , fed up of the mono chromatic existence , had given in to the lure of colour . Unforgivable! The nun in question saw the look on her fellow nuns’ faces , and slowly unwrapped and folded the saree , replacing it on the table . The rest of the class continued to do what they did best , make noise , and not take notice . The nuns resumed chattering , as if nothing had happened.

  4. It was round 3 00 AM. I awoke to what seemed a thousand pieces of shattering glass. It was a moonless night and the blackness of night made no room for the tiniest of light. I felt for my flashlight which fell on the floor. Waving my hands along the floor I felt its long shape half way under the bed where it rolled. I tip toed down the back staircase which lead to the kitchen. What I saw made the hair on my arms stand straight up.

    For her birthday, aside from the DELICIOUS cake, Sarah received
    many lovely gifts from her girlfriends. The one she loved most was
    a STUNNING tortoise-shell barrette.
    Sarah tried placing it all over her head until she found its
    PERFECT spot, thus ending another tale of the tortoise and the hair!

    by Wendy Lee Klenetsky

  6. One never understands completely until they live through an experience themselves. Although I was told that I would lose all of my hair during chemo treatment for breast cancer I still was shocked when it happened. I was sitting at my desk just after the Christmas holidays. I’d worn a black suit jacket over my blouse that day. Without warning I began to feel the teeniest little multiple tingles on my scalp. It was truly strange. As I touched my head in hopes of stopping the feeling along came strands of my hair. I then became obsessed with repeating the touching of my head and was mesmerized by the hair falling out all over the black wool jacket. This was it: what I had been warned would happen. As a wrap-up to this tale, I found it necessary to stay out of work for several weeks due to the very intense effects the chemo was having on my system. When I returned wearing a wig everyone was welcoming. I was fortunate because I had plenty of great support since I worked with the medical staff at my office. Very quickly I remembered how I’d get awful headaches during the height of wig wearing fashion in the sixties when my head began to pound. I pulled off the wig, stuck it in a bag, and never wore it again. Instead I’d meticulously apply my make-up and wear dangling chandelier earrings to work. I decided my baldness was a sign of courage and to hell with wigs or scarfs. I was making a statement for women who had chemo for breast cancer.

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