I cannot beLIEVE the fuss and furor over little Shiloh Jolie-Pitt’s haircut. If you haven’t heard, it is making headlines everywhere. Seems Brad and Angelina’s 3 and a half year old is sporting a modified pixie cut, and according to the
tabloids , she is either a) fashion forward, b) gender confused or c) a budding transsexual. What she is, dunderheads, is 3 and a half years old. A pre-schooler whose hair has been cut short because a) she got gum in it, b) she wants to look like her older brothers or c) one of her sibs took a pair of manicure scissors to her on a long and boring afternoon.
I should know. I grew up with short hair. Oh, I had long hair at various points in my life, but my mother must have admired Audrey Hepburn and Mia Farrow , because I was continually getting it lopped off. Here I am, at age 6:
Wait, here’s another, taken, I think, a year later.
As far as I can recall, I was never mistaken for a boy, nor were my parents accused of harbouring secret wishes to raise a son (my brother was born several years later), and I was certainly not gender confused. Oh, I had other issues: I was afraid of the dark, and painfully shy, but I knew I was a girl, and that girliness was not tied up in the length of my hair.
Interestingly, here’s a picture of Aidan, taken 4 years ago:
OMG, so cute. Clearly, his 12 year old masculinity was not tied up in the length of HIS locks, although he did have it all cut off a short time later. And Asta, who is now almost 60 pounds, goes to the groomers regularly. (By the way, can you tell I’m making my way through those boxes of photos I wrote about last week? There’s lots more where they came from, so stand by).
In any case. My point is that as someone who has had short hair, long hair, and for a brief period, no hair at all, I am amazed at the importance vested in the stuff on top of your head when, of course, it’s what’s inside it that counts.