Sad, Small Town
Today I am typing with the font of New Times Roman even though on my blog it will be changed to the same font as the rest of the blogs. Every week on Google Docs I pick a font that feels right to me for that day. For some reason, it just makes me happy to fit the font to my feelings, and today I feel like New Times Roman is quite appropriate.
Here’s why:
The world is changing. It always changes. Change isn’t new, but new is what change brings. We are in new times; the era of the Roman Empire is long gone. At least one would hope.
“Roman society was extremely patriarchal and hierarchical. The adult male head of a household had special legal powers and privileges that gave him jurisdiction over all the members of his family.” (courses.lumenlearning.com)
PBS.org writes, “Defined by the men in their lives, women in ancient Rome were valued mainly as wives and mothers. Although some were allowed more freedom than others, there was always a limit, even for the daughter of an emperor.”
Simply put: In ancient times, women were known to be the weaker gender. They were expected to fulfill the “natural role” of pious homemakers. (Now, I am sure the Romans were not the ones to begin this gender bias but for the sake of today’s font choice I just want to just touch on the Roman Empire.)
So why am I blogging about something that happened two thousand years ago? Sadly, it’s still happening today - in my hometown - and unfortunately, in MANY places in the world.
I just wanted a haircut. A zero-fade to be precise. My partners and I have been experimenting on trying to do one on me but I don’t seem to have the right tools and lacking in skill might also have something to do with it. Anyway, Jennifer has lived in Seneca for 13 years and she told me that there is a barber in town who is known for doing incredible fades. I’ve been nervous to go in there and ask because she said it was an older gentleman and I was unsure how he would feel doing a haircut on me that he probably has only done on guys. Well, today I decided to be brave and go ask for a haircut.
I walked in to see him cutting a guy's hair. There was another man and his two, young boys sitting in the waiting chairs. I asked him how long the wait was and he looked at me strangely then replied, “Who’s it for?” I tapped the top of my bike helmet with a smile, indicating that it was for me. He stared at me, for an uncomfortable amount of time before finally responding.
“I don’t do women’s haircuts.”
I was confused and decided to push back a little.
“But I want a man’s haircut. A zero fade - and I heard that you do awesome fades.”
He looked perplexed, a little apologetic, but mostly flabbergasted that I had the guts to go to a barber.
“I’m sorry ma’am but I only do men. I have turned down many women, and if they saw me cutting your hair they would be upset and would want to know why I cut yours but wouldn’t cut theirs.”
I was shocked and quite perplexed. Even more though, I felt small and insignificant. The two men in the barbershop had smirks on their faces as they watched the conversation.
“Let me just see your hair.” the barber said.
I took off my helmet. He looked at me for a moment and I hoped he would change his mind when he saw that I already had super short hair that wouldn’t be hard to trim up. Weirdly, he shook his head and still said, “Yeah, I don’t do women.”
At this point, I felt like he was just being nosy and wanted to see how short my hair was under my ear warmer and biking helmet.
“Do you recommend anyone else that can do it for me?” I responded as a last resort.
“There is a hairdresser across the street that does fine haircuts,” he answered.
“But does she do men’s haircuts or only women's long hair? I questioned in frustration.
He fumbled for words and told me he was sure she could do my hair.
“Can she do a good zero fade though?” I inquired honestly.
“You’ll find out.” smirked the guy in the waiting chair next to his two boys.
Clearly, it was time for me to leave. The barber wasn’t budging, and it was obvious that I wasn’t welcome there.
“I’m sorry.” the barber called out as I turned to leave.“I understand.” came out of my mouth without my permission because clearly, I did not understand.
As I slowly rode my bike away down the sidewalk, I felt a deep sense of shame. “This is what I get for wanting a guy’s haircut, I guess.”
“I wish I was a guy.”
“Would he have cut my hair if I had my boobs removed and presented like a man?”
“How dare I go into a barber shop and request to get my hair cut? I don’t belong there. I am only allowed to go to a hairdresser.”
“Damn, I wish I was a guy. I don’t think hairdressers turn guys down so why do barbers turn women down?”
So many things running through my head. I felt small; stupid for thinking maybe he would cut my hair.
I heard myself saying, “See, I told you not to try. You should know better than to step outside the lines.”
I hate these voices in my head but I also know that they are just trying to protect me.
As I sat down to process and blog, another voice gently reminded me that this was a VERY small taste of what queer people go through all the time. Even though it felt terrible to me, this situation at least wasn’t life-threatening like what some of the LGBTQ+ community experiences. I suddenly felt a surge of compassion while simultaneously realizing that this was only the beginning of my queer journey and certainly not the last time that I will be treated as less than.
I know there are more progressive areas, and not all barbers turn away women; at least I hope not. My dream is to one day live near a place that is more open, accepting, and dare I say, loving. As of right now, I still live in a small, sad town.
Though it’s 2,000 years later, Seneca, MO. is still stuck acting like the Romans.
My mind is having a hard time wrapping itself around the situation. I don’t really want to go to the hairdresser across the street. I don’t really want to deal with her opinions or possible dislike of me asking for what our culture deems “a man’s haircut.” I know I shouldn’t care what people think but it’s difficult when people look at you with disappointment and disgust for not fitting the mold.
Damn the mold. I’m not going to shove myself into it any longer. I will eventually find someone who not only is willing but hopefully will gladly give me a zero fade. Until then, I guess my partners and I will keep blunderingly buzzing away.
Ever had an experience like this? I would love to hear your stories and how you have learned or are learning to navigate being a queer human in the areas of the world that are still 2,000 years behind.
Huge hugs to all of my fellow humans who have had much worse experiences than this. It makes me grateful to be a part of a group that refuses to be chained up no matter how hard others try. We have tasted wild freedom - and it tastes too good to return to the old crap.
Roman or not, here we come.
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