Lesbian Hairs

Lesbian Hairs
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@sarahb.h Instagram-fényképének megnézése • 295 kedvelés
Welcome to world of TomBoy Crush ! — Whouah… Brittenelle ...
By far my favorite short haircut ever xD hoping I can grow my hair out to this eventually
Fuckin' SWEET hair. Celebrating Butch: A Powerful Photo Collection on Female Masculinity — Everyday Feminism
Loving the hair!!! omfg shes yummmmy.
If i could i would so cut my hair like this!
Someone pleaseeeeeeee tell me who she is

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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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13 Types Of Lesbians You're Most Likely To Meet IRL
By Rebecca Jane Stokes — Written on Apr 15, 2021
Even if you aren't a lesbian you've probably heard people use descriptors like "power lesbian" or "baby dyke."
Sure, you might have an inkling of what each word means, but when taken as a whole you have no clue what those in question are talking about.
Plus, as a straight person , it's really disrespectful to start using words like this at all, let alone with no understanding of what you're actually saying.
Remember, this list is a broad generalization. Every person is different, we can't (and shouldn't) put everyone in an easy-to-understand box . This is more of a fun and sort of silly way in which lesbians refer to one another than some actual, real-life categorization system.
If you don't know how to identify a person, talk to that person and find out what they are the most comfortable with. And know that every person is more than just a label.
The activist lesbian is characterized by her passion for social justice especially as it pertains to being a lesbian.
Butch, femme, young, and old, the activist lesbian can look like any other type of lesbian you might meet. She's inspirational, passionate, and a lover of justice.
A lipstick lesbian, or femme lesbian, loves to dress in a highly feminized or "girly" manner. She is the kind of lesbian that wears skirts, dresses, jewelry, lipstick, elaborate blowouts, and more because these ladies go all out. You can find them lurking in Sephora or shopping up at a store.
The chapstick lesbian is the dividing line between a lipstick lesbian and a butch lesbian.
While butch lesbians revel in looking masculine and lipstick lesbians like looking ultra-girly, a chapstick lesbian (also known as soft butch) can go either way. She likes dressing up, but she's equally happy in jeans and button-down.
The butch lesbian presents herself as tough, make-up free and masculine to one degree or another. This doesn't mean she's trying to look like a man, she's just subverting your idea of what a woman should look like and looking hot as hell in the process.
Stone butch lesbian is a butch lesbian (see above) who derives sexual pleasure from giving other women pleasure. She is a giver — not a receiver — so do not under any circumstances get that noise twisted, my friends.
There are bois in the gay community and the lesbian community. In the lesbian community, the boi lesbian is biologically female but presents as looking boyish. Bois tend to date older partners.
The power lesbian is a lesbian with her life together! She's the leader in her field, the top of the top. She's the best surgeon, the best lawyer, the most influential policymaker. She's all about taking on that head honcho role and crushing it. Think Tabitha Coffey.
A "hasbian" is a woman who once identified as a lesbian but now dates men and doesn't identify themselves as being straight or bi . They were a lesbian, now they are dating a man, and who knows what the future might hold.
LUG stands for "lesbian until graduation." This is the undergraduate lesbian-curious girl , who is finally exploring her sexuality and discovering that she is attracted to women. It could be a phase, but that's up to them.
The sport dyke isn't characterized so much as being attracted to other women as much as she is obsessed with her sport of choice. Not all lesbians are sport dykes, but all sport dykes are definitely lesbians.
The baby dyke lesbian is a fond title given to a woman who has just come out of the closet and started becoming a part of the lesbian community. She could be femme, butch, chapstick, or anything else, but for now, she is characterized by her newness to the scene.
The femme lesbian is a title for the lesbian who identifies as a woman and falls into the traditionally feminine mannerisms and style. Femme lesbians are sometimes mistaken for straight as they are very feminine and like to dress up and wear makeup and look like a straight girl, however, therefore sometimes they feel like they have to prove their gayness.
The stud lesbian is a butch woman or a non-binary person who is of Black or LatinX descent. Only Black and LatinX women or non-binary people can use this lesbian term as it's a part of their community and not to be mistaken or meant to be seen as a stud if someone is butch. A stud and butch lesbians are two different types of lesbians and not all butch Black people are studs.
Rebecca Jane Stokes is a writer living in Brooklyn, New York with her cat, Batman. She's an experienced generalist with a passion for lifestyle, geek news, pop culture, and true crime.
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I've recently started dating again and every woman I've gone to bed with (different ages 21, 26, 31, 48) has a bush and doesn't want to shave it. Is it a lesbian thing?
Guest wrote: I've recently started dating again and every woman I've gone to bed with (different ages 21, 26, 31, 48) has a bush and doesn't want to shave it. Is it a lesbian thing?
I like to shave mine and even plan to have the laser hair removal. I am 19 though so it must be from an era thing.
Why would anyone shave, if you don't want hair there wax it off.
^o) No lol. Women do all kinds of things with their pubic hair and it just so happens the four women you have been with all prefer not to shave. Also, 21-48 is a pretty crazy age range girl.
Guest wrote: I've recently started dating again and every woman I've gone to bed with (different ages 21, 26, 31, 48) has a bush and doesn't want to shave it. Is it a lesbian thing?
I always thought it was more of a generational issue. When I went to college in the 90's nobody shaved. Now dating younger girls the last several years, they all shave partially or have brazilians. Maybe it's a generational, age and preference issue. Long as it's clean, I don't care.....
Guest wrote: I've recently started dating again and every woman I've gone to bed with (different ages 21, 26, 31, 48) has a bush and doesn't want to shave it. Is it a lesbian thing?
I keep a neat triangle up top, because otherwise I look like a 16 year old.
Guest wrote: I've recently started dating again and every woman I've gone to bed with (different ages 21, 26, 31, 48) has a bush and doesn't want to shave it. Is it a lesbian thing?
Three lesbians represent all lesbians. Your sample size is small
I like to shave it. I also prefer women who shave it or at least trim it a little.
Because shaving is pointless and most importantly unhygienic.
Stop dating fatties...they can't lift their fat to see where the bush is!!
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