All About Hair: headshave

Headshave Experience of a Brave Girl

all about hair October 28, 2017

I am 23, I shaved my head when I was 18, on January 31, 2012. :P :D

It was because my hair fall was just too much. I asked my dad although mom was mad, he allowed. I came back to my campus to Hyderabad, asked my friend to shave. He did.

I started wearing skullcaps, but a week or so after, I was drinking with two friends and trying hard not to flash the bald head. The woman in the group just took off my cap and praised how hot I looked. I was drunk. I bought it. I never wore a cap after that :P.

And I think, women look the prettiest when they shave.

I loved it. I even used it as a weapon to scare the eve teasers. In others view, too many people told me I looked hot, more than the hairy-time.

The weirdest thing was my mom did not let me come back home until I had enough hair. Apparently, the neighbours told my mum - 1) I had cancer, 2) I was kicked out of my college after shaving my head (LOLZ, Indian neighbours, especially Keralites).

Several more women shaved their head in my campus after me Lol. :D

Some pros of shaving:

No more flying hair around my room.
It was summer and when I used to go to class, most days that I felt sweaty, I used to go to the bathroom beside the class, put water on the head and come back and sit in the class. In a few minutes, the water used to dry and my head would be cool too!
No more shampoo or conditioner. Even oil!

Cons:

There were days that I felt naked and hoped that the hair will cover my shame by the time I woke. Although I had fantasized shaving, it really hit me one day when I realized that it will not take one day … Month or year, but at least 3 years to grow the hair I’d cut.

I am hoping to shave again in a few years right after my hair reaches the waist and I get a tattoo to mark its length :D. Shaving helps in growing supra strong hair!

This was me before the Shave

Although I didn’t have a pic of exactly the shaved head, this is a couple of weeks after …

Yet another from the Hostel room…

Thanks for the read :P :D

Shaving is Saving (Your hair)

Source : Quora

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Bald Ambition by Isha Singh

bald ambition January 21, 2017

By Isha Singh Sawhney

I was 16 when I first hacked my almost waist-length hair down to a GI-Jane buzz, what they called a number 2 on the electric buzzer. The next time was at 25, when I decided to go completely bald. The first was in a fit of teenage angst, the second during what I call relationship rebellion. Yes, such a thing exists, and no, it’s not called rebound.

Let’s start with the first. Back then, I was just the girl with short skirts, chubby knees and buzzed hair – no big deal. But then, teenagers in the ’90s were a far cry from the hypersexual kids of today, obsessed as they are with pop icons, sartorial choices and salon visits. No one really cared if you cut your hair shorter than most boys, wore an ugly sweater and unfashionable nail polish, or didn’t wax your legs till you were legally allowed to vote. Especially if you were the wild tomboy (not on any top-ten-hottest-girls lists), who was the first to be suspected when a bomb went off in the school bathrooms before Diwali.

But in your twenties (and then in your thirties), things are different: sexually, emotionally, intellectually. I had just come out of a physically abusive relationship and gone headfirst into another messed-up, albeit nicer, one. Not quite healed, I was a ticking bomb waiting to combust, and I desperately wanted, nay needed, some kind of transformative action (insert bald head here).

The morning I decided to shave my head, after a night fuelled by Kamikaze shots, I didn’t have a hint of trepidation as my cousin, who was deputed to do the job, picked up the shaver and got started. As long, ponytail-sized clumps fell off and strips of white scalp began to show through, after the first twinge of apprehension in my gut, euphoria set in. I felt lighter, not just because of the actual physical weight of my hair, but almost as if the political, spiritual and emotional burden that came with it had lifted. I felt my sadness and baggage leave me with each lock.

In the days that followed, when I ran my hands over the fresh stubble, there was a big dose of panic mixed in with the liberation. Once that wore off, though, there were a bunch of joyous, more mundane, utilitarian positives: No more shampoo, curling irons or hair dryers. Washing your hair doesn’t need a well-planned itinerary. Bad hair days are a figment of your imagination. Hair ties, obsolete. You can run, do yoga and cycle without getting annoyed by that one obstinate strand that always, always gets in your eyes.

It’s the reactions that were most striking then – when you’ve been relatively easy on the eyes for a while, with a mane people enviously gush over, the shock when they see your now shining white pate is painfully obvious, and pretty much unanimous. Once they get past the fact that you haven’t done this for Tirupati or to donate it to a cancer foundation, you get everything from “WTF! Why would you? You’re such a pretty girl! Why would you purposely get rid of your hair to look like a dyke?” to “You go girl, one million points for women’s empowerment!”

Missives of concern come wrapped in a host of compliments. Not even strangers will hesitate to display a full range of emotions, ranging from pity and surprise to pure revulsion.

In the conservative, traditional, conformist view shared by many in this country, men (and women) see a woman with long, flowing hair and think – subconsciously and sometimes out loud – that here’s a woman who can be loved by a man. You just have to see how men react to women with shaved heads or short-cropped hair to know this to be true. Women without hair are unsexy. They’re threatening.

And so we conform, and spend hours on braiding, straightening, curling, colouring and blow-drying our obsession, ego and vanity. Yes, such obvious womanliness may get you out of a speeding challan or score you a free drink at the bar, but shaving my head gave me the chance to discover an inner, stronger femininity. The day I went bald, I bought myself the boldest pair of earrings I own: huge silver disks with bald, tribal men on them.

For I suddenly had this testosterone-filled attitude that’s kosher in boys, but not girls. When you take off your hair, says a cousin who’s also gone bald twice, you shed the weight of expectations. Men talk to you without being distracted by their subconscious associations with hair: long hair = girl = sex.

My cousin first went bald as a teenager after dating a series of women in New York, to conform to her queer community, where every second person was a bald or buzzed lesbian. The second time, she was getting over a guy “who had destroyed my heart at 22”, and she felt free. “From being a tiny and girly queer girl, suddenly I was all attitude,” she declares.

In me, this same “attitude” stemmed from overcompensation. I lived in a far more conservative Delhi. Feeling exposed without hair, I’d developed a swagger to contend with the stares and comments. What I put out was an androgynous, boy-girl kind of sexiness, interpreted as mental, brave or gutsy. And I loved that badass-ery.

Hair is energy, and when you take it off, you let go of both society’s diktats on conventional beauty and your own ego – the latter as important as the former. And when it grows back, if you’re lucky, it’s natural, stripped of years of wear, with new strength to take on the world – just like you.

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