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My Queer Teen Years: How My First Lesbian Haircut Changed My Life
"I was desperate to find a sense of belonging in my new identity — what newly out queer teen hasn’t felt that pang of desperation?"
In 1987, I won the blue ribbon in the Mason County Fair’s Pretty Baby Contest. This big win became part of my family’s lore, my parents often reminding me that, at 18 months old, I was the most beautiful girl in the county. Hell, in all of West Virginia, as far as they were concerned.
As a teenager, bored and flipping through family photo albums in an attempt to “find myself,” what I found was the photograph of my mother holding me up like a prize-winning blueberry pie, on stage in a wood-paneled room at the Pretty Baby Contest. I noticed her hair. Her wild, copper curls were cropped short on top, while the back hung down long, just below her shoulders. An obnoxious teenager deeply concerned with what I thought was the most humiliating haircut anyone could dream of sporting — the mullet — I screeched, “Mom! Oh my God! When I was a baby you had a lesbian haircut!” Her response to my outrage over her late-'80s style unlocked another level of family lore, one that I only began to understand when I grew older, into my own romantic entanglements and the conflicts that punctuate them: “I got that haircut to piss off your father,” my mother explained.
I grew up in a yelling household. You could say very nicely that we loved each other at a high volume, but the truth is that we all yelled out our anger. In 1987, just before the social event of the summer — the Mason County Fair — my parents got into an argument and my father called my mother a “bitch” for the first and the last time. Instead of yelling, she stormed out of the house, straight to the local beauty parlor, where she told her beautician to make her look “like a bitch.” She wanted a bitch haircut: a mullet. “I’ll show you a bitch,” she mumbled, tapping the photograph, her rage reignited by the storytelling.
“It was a lesbian haircut, mom,” I said, rolling my eyes and sliding the photograph back into place behind the photo album cellophane.
A few years after I learned the story of my mother’s mullet, I was desperate for a lesbian haircut of my own. Not a business in the front, party in the rear mullet: God, no. What I wanted was a short, edgy haircut. A haircut that would get me mistaken for the lead singer in a riot grrrl band. I came out as gay at 16, in 2001, in a small West Virginia town. Without many queer women around to model identity, the only way I knew how spot other gay girls was by their haircuts. I lusted over the girl with the curly bowl cut who worked in the milkshake shop a few towns over. No matter how many chocolate banana shakes I sucked down, I was convinced she would never notice me unless I chopped off my long, brunette cheerleader locks. To truly be seen as a lesbian, I would need a lesbian haircut.
I floated the idea of cutting my hair to my gay male friend, and he vehemently objected: “You can be gay without looking like a boy!” For the record, he was right: There are as many ways to look like a lesbian as there are lesbians serving looks. If he was secretly trying to protect me, he was also right: There would be trouble for me if I suddenly looked like a boy. But his protests were marred by internalized homophobia, and I rejected them outright.
I was desperate to find a sense of belonging in my new identity — what newly out queer teen hasn’t felt that pang of desperation — and so I was determined to see it go. The hair I pulled up into a ponytail and tied with a bow, the finishing touch of my high school cheerleading uniform. The hair that boys had tugged on in middle school, when they were trying to figure out how to flirt. I wanted to see it lying on the floor behind me as I walked out of the salon a new person: A queer one.
I couldn’t go to the beauty shop in my hometown, where the stylist had been cutting my hair — and my mom’s, my grandmothers’, and all of my cousins’ — since I was in elementary school. If I walked into “Foxy Locks” and asked for a lesbian haircut, they would have probably called my mother, with whom I hadn’t shared my plans for transformation. Instead, I drove to a shopping mall a couple of hours from my house. I had noticed some gay men working in the salon a few doors down from the American Eagle where my mom had taken me back-to-school shopping a few months prior. The gay stylists looked fierce: with their indoor sunglasses and impeccable facial hair, they looked like they put more thought into their style than all of the adults I knew combined.
When I walked in, there were no fabulous gay men on the shift. A polite female stylist approached to ask how she could help me, and I held myself back from blurting out, “Just give me a lesbian haircut!” Instead, I sheepishly held out the album art from lesbian indie pop duo Tegan and Sara’s This Business of Art, my favorite CD released in 2000. I said that I wanted what these girls had: hair short and spiked. One of the twins had frosted tips, but I couldn’t afford that.
I could barely breathe as the polite female stylist cut nearly a foot of hair off my head and asked if I wanted to donate it to Locks of Love: the only reason she could imagine that a 16-year-old girl would chop off her hair. When she paused in her snipping to answer the phone — the receptionist likely out on a smoke break — I bent down and grabbed a handful off the floor. I almost started crying, not out of regret, but out of relief.
After hot irons and blow dryers and what felt like half a can of aerosol hairspray, the polite stylist spun me around to the mirror, and my tears dropped hot onto the smock. She had given me a version of the haircut that both my grandmothers got at Foxy Locks: A teased bouffant of elderly heterosexuality sat atop my 16-year-old queer head.
A two-hour drive home and a vigorous shampoo later, I stepped in front of my bedroom mirror with a pair of kitchen scissors and, through the tears, started chopping at what was left of my hair. That Tegan and Sara CD became more than the inspiration for my haircut; it became the soundtrack of my emergence into queer style. A bit of pomade to tame my cowlicks and some gel to spike the hair at all the right angles, and I emerged, visibly queer. I dug my fingers into my scalp and felt cooler than I ever had before.
In Los Angeles, two decades after my mom told me the story of her lesbian haircut, I walk into a salon that describes itself as a place for “dames, gents, and folks in between.” I tell my stylist that I want my hair cut like Jenny Schecter from The L Word and she knows exactly what I mean. Infamous Showtime drama The L Word (2004-2009), following the lives and loves of a group of Los Angeles lesbians — very few of whom had stereotypical lesbian haircuts — tackled the rite of passage in an episode in which a character who formerly identified as heterosexual, Jenny Schecter, loses her long, dark hair, and was thus initiated into lesbian chic. Like myself at 16, Jenny wishes to be visibly read as a lesbian. She asks her straight male roommate Mark if he thought she looked gay or straight. His response: “If I saw you at a bar I would assume you were straight.” But how could he tell when women were lesbians, Jenny asks. “They have these haircuts. These very cool haircuts.”
When I got my lesbian haircut, the smiles that strangers had once given me on sidewalks became dirty looks. People whispered when I walked into women’s restrooms. There were homophobic remarks hurled from car windows, and from my father’s recliner in the family room.
Coming out in a small town taught me many things, including the high price we pay for queer visibility. It cost me a lot, but I also had much to gain. Including finally catching the eye of that cute girl with the bowl cut who worked at the milkshake shop a few towns over.
Today, it’s not obvious that I have a lesbian haircut. My hair is long, and straight, and I dye it brown to postpone the silvery salt and pepper that has crept in. I will keep dyeing it, I tell myself, at least into my forties. I have blunt bangs — just like Jenny Schecter — cut squarely across my forehead. I make the L Word-esque joke that they are my way of procrastinating on the Botox I’ll eventually inject into my forehead, hiding the lines that seem to deepen every time I think to check, alone with myself in front of the bathroom mirror. But when I was 16, feeling isolated as a queer in a small town, I drew strength from knowing that with my lesbian haircut, I was part of something bigger than myself. I was part of a community, and that, even more than the girl at the milkshake shop, was exactly what I needed.
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10 Myths About Lesbians You Need to Stop Believing Now
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No, we don’t all love the ​The L Word​.
Forget everything you think you know about lesbians. Well, not everything. Some truths remain undeniably unavoidable (say, for example, that whole 'being attracted to women' thing), but for some reason our identity also comes with a bunch of misconceptions and stereotypes that range from casually cute to potentially dangerous. Of course, some stereotypes exist for a reason. Personally, do I own at least 10 beautiful flannel shirts? Yes, proudly. I also own around 30 pairs of Converse and I literally have a rainbow tattooed on my body. However, I am fully aware that the next girl I swipe right for on Tinder might hate rainbows and think flannel is downright atrocious. Is nothing sacred anymore? Who can we trust?! Just kidding...
Lesbians may share a label, but most of us couldn’t be more splendidly different. Since today is Lesbian Visibility Day, it’s time the world acknowledge how diverse lesbians and our culture can be instead of lumping us into a few key words and cultural icons. Of course, we can’t really hear that kind of ignorance over the blare of Tegan and Sara’s greatest hits while The Ellen DeGeneres Show plays in the background, but we know it’s there and we're demanding change. So here are the top 10 misconceptions about lesbians — study up because we're about to turn those perspectives around.
10. Lesbians are looking at you in the locker room.
No matter how far we progress as a society, there are always going to be those people who feel ‘uncomfortable’ sharing a locker room with LGBT folks. Well, here’s some news for you: we’re in the locker room to change clothes. Maybe to shower. Probably to put on some deodorant. Definitely not to convert you to the wild ways of women-lovin’. At the most, we might ask you where you got your cute yet practical workout clothes, but that’s about as crazy as it might get.
9. You can identify a lesbian by their flannel.
Careful with this one. Flannel is hella in right now, and straight girls are all over it just as much as we are. Take it from someone who’s made this error herself — flannel does not equal lesbian. You can ask that girl wearing an adorable flannel to drinks, but you might just end up with a lovely heterosexual friend.
Oh, The L Word. We are slowly drifting away from this being the main hub of of all lesbian entertainment content, but for some reason it lingers as beacon of references. Personally, I’m much more of a South of Nowhere girl myself, but here’s the thing — all lesbians don’t need to watch or identify with a show exclusively about lesbians. What we’d really love are some more fully realized, compelling queer characters in all sorts of films and TV shows. Honestly, give us as many as possible, but The L Word is not the be all and end all of our television queues. Some of us really don’t even like it. But shhh, we can’t really say that out loud...
7. Lesbians are all super athletic.
Let me tell you how bad I am at softball. They put the ball on a string in middle school and I still couldn’t hit it. Ladies, do not feel like a failure because you can’t hit a home run or literally connect your bat to a ball under any circumstance. There’s a world of stuff for us to be good at out there, and it’s not always gonna be sports.
6. Every lesbian a woman meets is in love with her.
In certain circles, when someone comes out as a lesbian some ladies think that’s the equivalent of being asked to prom. However, here’s really all we want to happen when we come out to you: we want you to know how we identify. You’re on a mighty high horse if you think all people who are attracted to women might be in love with you.
5. Lesbians have major problems with boys.
Beware the “man-hating lesbians!” Donate your sperm and we can live entirely without you forever! I joke, I joke. Despite the fact we often get quite seriously accused of this, we’re perfectly fine with dudes. Some aren’t the best, of course, but neither are plenty of women. Lots of people just aren’t great. But if we're really generalizing an entire gender, we wouldn't be that great either. Men, you can stay, and we even enjoy your company! We just don’t want to make out with you.
4. Every lesbian couple “U-Hauls” immediately.
Let’s be real, “U-hauling” (moving in together immediately) certainly can be a thing. A U-Haul-associated Twitter account even acknowledged that itself when marriage equality was legalized. Sure, we see a lot of our friends moving in after a few dates, and wonder if we're next, but a lot of lesbian couples come with two sets of apartment keys. We can date and be just as afraid of commitment as anyone else! And yes, we can side-eye our friends who are “U-hauling” and shake our fists a bit at the stereotype coming true because this really doesn't happen to everyone.
3. Lesbians can’t understand their sexuality without dating or being in a relationship.
Oddly, there are people in the world who might try to fight your sexuality if you’ve never been in a relationship with a woman or don’t date. "But how do you really know you're a lesbian" is always a fun question to get asked. It’s perfectly possible to know who you’re attracted to without being wrapped in a person of that gender’s arms. In short: you just know. If you're still figuring it out, you shouldn't have to defend your journey or personal life to anyone. And you definitely shouldn't feel pressured to date simply because you need to ‘defend’ your identity.
2. Lesbian sex isn’t as valid as sex between a man and a woman.
Wow, do my heterosexual friends have a lot of question about lesbian sex. Let me assure you; we’ve got this under control. We want for nothing. Hell, we’re might even be having a lot more fun than you. So to those folks out there who are worried that lesbian sex isn’t all it can be and more, please find other things to worry about.
1. All lesbians fit into the butch or femme dichotomy.
Especially in previous decades, the butch or femme dichotomy was a pretty substantial part of lesbian culture (you can add Stone Butch Blues to your reading list for more information). Now, however, those lines can be and are often blurred. Of course, many lesbians do identify as such and there’s no problem with that at all, but don’t go around assuming labels based on style or stereotypes. Short haired girls can be femme! Girls with long hair can be butch! Oftentimes labels like butch and femme need not apply at all, and at the end of the day, we’re all just cute girls with great haircuts.
Check out Teen Vogue’s December/January issue cover star, Fernanda Ly.
The young person’s guide to conquering (and saving) the world. Teen Vogue covers the latest in celebrity news, politics, fashion, beauty, wellness, lifestyle, and entertainment.
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