pañuelo girl

Why I’m Pro Bald Barbie

2012-01-16T14:22:00.004-05:00

There’s a growing movement to get Mattel to create Bald Barbie. The rationale, as I understand it, is to provide a relatable doll for young girls who’ve lost their hair due to medical conditions and treatments. A doll they can see themselves in. As a long-term alopecian and recent cancer survivor, I support that.

But that’s not why I’m Pro Bald Barbie.

Let’s be clear. I’m not exactly Pro Barbie. Sure, I had quite a collection when I was a young girl. But I also grew up with a warped idea of what it means to be a woman. My waist was never narrow enough; my chest, not full enough; my eyes, not wide enough; my nose, not small enough; my legs, not long enough; my thighs, never, ever slim enough…The list goes on. Was this Barbie’s fault? No. But she didn’t help. I’m not sure that any girl ever looks at Barbie and sees herself, and I’m not sure that Bald Barbie would change that. What she could do, however, is help normalize female baldness in our society.

I don’t think people realize what it takes to be female and bald in America. I’m not talking about chemo patients, though they experience their own hair loss challenges. What I’m talking about is the experience of girls and women facing long-term hair loss due to alopecia.

Yes, there are wigs. Most bald women wear one, especially in the beginning. For those who have the money, there are wigs so fancy even your closest scrutinizers won’t guess you’re bald. But be prepared to pay three thousand dollars or more for this option, a small price to feel normal, you’ll tell yourself. Even with the most natural of wigs, however, eventually you’re going to have to explain why you avoid immersing yourself in water, sharing hotel rooms, gale force winds, open gym showers, and anything that involves turning you upside down. Eventually you will have to tell the guy you’re dating that your scalp is bare, or patchy, and that your hair is really a wig.

Let’s say you choose to be bald and beautiful or to adorn your head with scarves. Be prepared for people to assume you have cancer and to approach you with their concerns and good wishes—all the time. Be prepared to explain that you have alopecia, not cancer, an autoimmune disease that causes your body to fight off your hair. Every now and then, you may be accused of making a mockery of cancer when someone finds out your hair loss is caused by something else. Be prepared to respond with dignity. On rare occasions, you may be called an alien, a pirate, or a lesbian feminist Nazi who just wants attention. Be prepared to laugh it off, have fun with it, or ignore it, depending on the situation. Be prepared to explain your hair loss in job interviews, obtain permission to wear a head scarf in passport photos, maybe even remove your scarf on command for an ID photo. Be prepared to be stopped cold in the driver’s license office by the simplest of questions: What is your hair color?

Though I embraced my hairlessness years ago, I still struggle to feel normal without hair. Would a doll in my own image help me feel better about myself? Maybe. You know what would help more? If the rest of the world understood, accepted, and embraced bald females.

I see Bald Barbie not just as a token doll for those who are familiar with hair loss, but as a conversation starter and educational tool for those who aren’t. If every household contained one Bald Barbie, maybe the next generation would grow up thinking that bald girls are normal. As a result, maybe bald girls wouldn’t feel so isolated, ashamed, unattractive, and unworthy.

I support Bald Barbie, even with all her unrealistic proportions, because I think her presence could help create a world where it’s ok to be bald and female.

I’m Pro Bald Barbie because I believe she could be a game changer.

We The Alopecians

2011-12-05T16:59:00.013-05:00

Here’s the thing about alopecians: We’re not all the same.

Some are born without hair. Some lose it so early in life they don’t remember ever having hair—or losing it. Some lose their hair in childhood. Some lose it as teenagers. Some lose it as adults. Some lose it in patches that can be covered up. Some lose it all over their bodies and don’t even have a single nose hair. Some lose it in patches for awhile, then progress to total hair loss. Some respond to current treatments such as steroid injections. Some respond to alternative medicines. Some don’t respond to any treatment at all. Some respond until they don't. Some get their hair back for no known reason. Some get their hair back every so many years. Some get their hair back during pregnancy. Some feel comfortable talking about it. Some never talk about it. Some feel comfortable only in wigs, some in scarves, some in bare scalps, some in tattooed scalps. Some can't imagine the possibility of ever being happy and hairless at the same time. Some blame all their problems in life on alopecia. Some do arrive at true self-acceptance. Some feel sexy and beautiful without hair. Some feel undateable because of their hairlessness. Some have met and married life partners. Some think maybe we shouldn’t be so self-accepting or we’ll never seek a cure. Some worry that if we joke about our bald heads, we’re not taking the disease seriously enough.

Because we have such different experiences, we do not always present a united front. Maybe that’s a good thing. Discussions and debates can challenge our own beliefs and offer alternative perspectives. When done respectfully, they can help us grow.

I cannot—and I do not—speak for all alopecians. I am just one person among the millions worldwide with alopecia. I’m on my own journey—a journey, I must add, that involves frequent evolution in thought and beliefs. Today, sixteen years after losing my hair, I’m not sure I’d welcome my hair back. I don’t even own a hairbrush, much less a curling iron or blow dryer. I rather enjoy being able to get ready quickly without having to bother with hair. I do not miss the hefty price tags of foil colors and perms and styles at fine hair salons. I have found alternative ways to feel feminine: I wear dresses, I get regular mani/pedis, and every once in awhile I wear cute heels that hurt my feet. I’m not sure I still believe a cure is necessary—a contentious viewpoint in some alopecia circles. I hesitate to publicize this viewpoint because the last thing I want to be is disrespectful.

I honestly believe the problem doesn’t lie in the loss of hair but in society’s lack of awareness and acceptance of it. I believe that bald can be beautiful. I believe that my fellow alopecians are some of the most beautiful people I've ever met. I believe there’s a place for hairlessness in the world, just as I believe there's a place for different body shapes, a variety of eye colors, a range of foot sizes. I believe in embracing our individuality and that our differences are what make us beautiful. I believe that the cultural definition of beauty just may shift one day to include hairlessness, just as it has shifted to include a bigger booty and thicker thighs.

But I also remember when I wasn't ready, or willing, or able to believe these things. So I welcome the dialogue. I agree to disagree. I am open to new ideas. And old ones. In the meantime, I place my hope on society rather than research, on humanity as opposed to a cure. And I do my best to be the change I wish to see in the world.

Achieving Self-Acceptance

2011-11-14T14:42:00.003-05:00

When I attended my first alopecia conference last June, I met the most amazing hairless people. Some wore headscarves like me. Others were more daring, showing off scalp tattoos—butterflies and rainforest flowers, sunbursts and peace signs. Most simply displayed their smooth, shiny domes proudly, parading from conference site to ballpark, to restaurants and bars and clubs, one stunning scalp after another snaking through the streets of downtown Indianapolis.

I found the bald heads to be gorgeous. Provocative. Inspiring. But I did not expose my own hairless scalp during the conference.

As photos emerged of my scarf-wrapped head against a backdrop of bald and beautiful, however, I began to think I was still hiding, no longer beneath a wig but under the cover of my pañuelo. I began to question whether I had truly accepted myself, my alopecia, my hairlessness. I began to wonder if boldly bald and beautiful was the next logical step in my self-acceptance journey, the step that would signify my arrival at a self-acceptance endpoint.

By mid summer, I was ready to do what I couldn’t at the conference. Not amongst other alopecians, but to a population I deemed equally safe—people I didn’t know and would never see again.

In July of 2010 on a crowded Dominican Republic beach, I removed my pañuelo and bared my hairless scalp in public for the first time.

I loved how the elements felt against my skin—the ocean breeze, the sun’s heat, the cool water—how they contacted me directly without having to permeate fabric. Without the pañuelo cover, I felt free. Exhilarated. Bold. Like a first-time skinny dipper.

After an hour or so of sun exposure, though, I’d had enough. I re-wrapped my head and grabbed a bite to eat or joined a spin class. Then I’d do it again. Unveil. Re-wrap. Unveil. Re-wrap.

When I dressed for dinner, I chose a black pañuelo to go with a new sundress. A violet to go with a halter top. A deep blue to match my eyes, the cloudless sky, the Caribbean ocean, and a v-neck t-shirt I wore with a jean skirt. In the pañuelo, I didn’t feel free or exhilarated or bold. I felt comfortable. I felt confident. I felt like me.

Every day for nearly 10 years, I’ve selected a pañuelo to wear. I’ve uncurled the fabric roll, wrapped the scarf around my head, and secured it in place with a double knot. I love this ritual. I love the feel of the soft rayon in my hands. I love finding just the right pañuelo for my outfit, or just the right outfit for my pañuelo.

The freedom and exhiliration? They’re fantastic. They’re the reason we jump out of airplanes and cross over the jungle on a zipline. They’re why we strip off our clothes and cannonball into a lake or dip au naturel into a natural hot spring.

But they’re not the same as self-acceptance.

Some people feel most comfortable with their bald head exposed. Some feel most like themselves in the nude. If that’s what makes them happy, then by all means, that’s exactly what they should be doing, as often as possible.

This morning I counted the pañuelos in my collection: 102 fabric squares that make me happy.

For me, accepting my bald head isn’t about baring it any more than accepting my body is about joining a nudist colony. For me, it’s enough to be able to bare my head, if only for a few days in a foreign country. Maybe for me, it’s not even about baring my head at all, but being comfortable not baring my head, if that’s what I choose.

One day I may revert back to wigs. One day I may decide to join the bald beauties/beautiful baldies. Life changes. We change. Endpoints shift.

It’s cliché to say the journey is the destination, but it’s true. All I can do, all anyone can do, is enjoy the ride.

Not

2011-10-31T15:48:00.002-04:00

Negation can be an effective identifier. If I say, for example, “I’m not that kind of girl,” we all understand what kind of girl I am. Or what I say I am. During my two years of adrenaline-induced bliss as a marathoner, I called myself a runner, but not a fast one. The distinction was important. Don’t expect me to win any races. Don’t invite me to run with you if you’re doing 7-minute miles. Or 8-minute miles. Or 9-minute miles, for that matter.

For the past few years, I’ve built my identity on a negation. I have alopecia, not cancer. I am hairless, not a chemo patient.

As a bald girl in a scarf, I’d often been mistaken for a cancer patient. That’s what people know. Bald head + headscarf = chemo. It was an honest mistake, one I sometimes felt responsible for. If only I could be comfortable in a hot, scratchy, heavy, expensive wig, then people wouldn’t have to be so uncomfortable with me. If only I could tolerate a wig, then people wouldn’t falsely assume I was part of the cancer sisterhood. Or in October, the breast cancer sisterhood.

The deluge of pink that occurred every year at this time—from cereal boxes to football jerseys—would heighten awareness about breast cancer and compel strangers to show me their support. Instead of the Knowing Look from afar, I would get Pep Talks from survivors and their families. I would get pats on the back, a grasp of hands, tears welling in someone’s eye. In October, more than any other time of year, people wanted to connect—not to what I was, but to what I was not.

Aware of the confusion and not wanting to contribute to it further, I tried to distance myself from the cause. I stopped Racing for The Cure years ago, when I first started wearing headscarves. I avoided wearing pink during Breast Cancer Awareness Month, just so I wouldn’t mislead anyone. Last year, I purposely didn’t buy the pink breast cancer awareness appointment calendar I’d eyed at the office supply store. My choices all centered around one message: I am not them.

Last October for the first time I finally sat down to write about sharing a Signature Look with cancer patients. I reflected on what it’s like to hear “at least it’s not cancer” over and over again, as if that’s somehow comforting, as if I didn’t say the same words to myself when I found myself grieving over the hair loss and then feeling guilty for my grief. I thought about all the times I’d heard people respond to a chemo patient’s concerns about hair loss with an “at least it will grow back.” I was thinking about how I might reconcile the two. I pondered the audacity of being a bald woman in a scarf and yet not having cancer. That’s what a stranger said to a friend who’s had alopecia her whole life. A young woman who’s never had to shampoo or blow dry or shave a single hair. Ever. A fellow alopecian who’s managed to grow up confident and self assured and beautiful despite not having hair. How dare you have the audacity, said the stranger, to parade your bald head around Target and not have cancer. How dare you garner my sympathy and concern when you don’t deserve it.

It felt like an important topic, an exploration worthy of resurrecting this neglected blog. But when the time came to hit the post button, I couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel right. Or it didn’t feel like the right time.

The problem with basing your identity on a negation is that it can be hard to maintain. The not-fast runner improves. The not-that-kind-of-girl becomes exactly the girl she once disdained. By choice or necessity, it doesn’t matter. In an instant the "not" you’ve clung to can slip out of your grip. You become what you were once not.

Two days after last year’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month wrapped up, my doctor found a lump in my breast. In mid November, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I’ve been reluctant to broadcast the news. Despite being completely open about my alopecia, I’m still a very private person when it comes to my personal life. Opening up private medical records on a public forum is risky for all the reasons you might imagine. Most importantly, though, despite going through surgery and chemo and radiation, I still identify more with alopecia, not cancer. Hairless, not chemo patient. I’ve been making that distinction for so long—one, not the other—that now I can’t seem to embrace both, alopecia and cancer.

Earlier this year in an interview with Ellen DeGeneres, Wanda Sykes, long time comedienne and now celebrity breast cancer survivor, talked openly about her diagnosis for the first time. In the beginning, she said, she kept it quiet. “How many things could I have? I’m black, then lesbian. I can’t be the poster child for everything!”

Sometimes you don’t have a choice.

Like Sykes, I have what sometimes seems like too many things. I can’t be the poster child for all of them. But that doesn’t mean I have to live in denial either. I don’t have to continue clinging to the "not" when it no longer applies.

I’ve neglected this blog for the past year in part because I haven’t known how to continue representing the "alopecia, not cancer" perspective when I'm no longer "not" cancer. I haven't known how to be authentic and true and still keep the "not cancer" shift a secret.

If there's one thing my alopecia has taught me, it's that The Closet is a dark and lonely place. So on this last day of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I am coming out as yet another survivor.

My hair didn’t fall out because of chemo, and it’s not going to grow back now that I’m done with treatment. After sixteen years without hair, I don’t expect to ever have hair again. I don’t know how being a breast cancer survivor will change my platform or my message. I don’t know if I’ll write about it or be outspoken about it. I don't know that I'll ever be its poster child. But I know better than to say never.

What I'm sure about is this: being a breast cancer survivor will infiltrate my sense of self. It will affect how I see myself and how I present myself.

The good news is that because of my alopecia, I’ll be more prepared for the shift.

What Ever Happened to Compassion?

2010-03-10T13:30:00.001-05:00

No spots are available when I pull into the gas station on a busy Saturday morning—none with a pump to my left, anyway. The gas tank on my car resides on the left side. I need a pump to my left.

I only wait for a couple of seconds before a spot opens up. A spot on the other side of the station. A spot with a nozzle to my left.

My spot.

I drive around the perimeter of the station, throw the gear into reverse, and prepare to back into my spot.

Except.

A car has pulled up behind me, blocking my path.

Gas stations are notoriously hard to maneuver. Each aisle has only enough room for the cars pumping gas. There is no room for a car to drive in between. A motorcycle, maybe. But definitely not a car. That’s why I had to go around the whole station. And now I’m waiting to reverse into my spot, and there is no room next to me for this car to pass. I’m stuck.

I am hoping the driver will back up so I can pull into my spot and get out of her way.

But that’s not what she does.

This woman who sees that I’ve targeted this spot, who must know that she is the only obstacle between me and the pump, who has not waited patiently for a spot to open up like I have—pulls into my spot.

My spot!

Surely she will realize her mistake. She will look at my car, see that I am poised to pull into the spot, and she will place her hand over her chest, say, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” and hightail her car out of my way.

But that’s not what she does.

This woman gets out of her car, removes the nozzle from the pump, and starts filling her tank. From my spot.

My mouth gapes open. I call her names. I curse her.

But now she’s got the pump from my spot in her gas tank, so I have no choice but to move to another spot, one that has just opened on the other side of the gas station. I drive back to the side where I started, do the three-point turn all over again, and plant my car next to another pump.

I am still cursing her under my breath as I swipe my King Soopers card to secure my 10-cents-per-gallon discount. I am still cursing her as I swipe my credit card for authorization. Approved. I remove the nozzle.

Suddenly, the lady working the booth comes running towards me.

What now? The booth lady never leaves the booth.

Did I drip gas on the asphalt? That’s illegal in some states. When driving through Maryland last year, I saw a sign at a gas station: If you drip gas on the asphalt, you are responsible for cleaning it up. And you are fined. (Or maybe you’re just fined if you spill and don’t clean. But still.) I wasn’t aware of any such law in Colorado.

Booth Lady positions her face to within a couple inches from mine. “What ever happened to compassion?” she asks.

Oh. That. She thinks I have cancer. I get that a lot. Not so much: What ever happeend to compassion? But a lot of people tell me they’re in remission or in treatment or that their sister or aunt or best friend is. They say one of the following:

a) “You’re going to be okay.”

b) “I’ll pray for you.”

c) “Can I buy you lunch?”

Personally I prefer c) “Can I buy you lunch?”

I wait to see which option Booth Lady will choose. Probably not c) —I only get c) in restaurants.

She continues. “I can’t believe that lady just cut you off. It was clear what you were doing.”

Not: Calm down. Not: You’re overreacting. Not: Get some perspective. Not even: Everything happens for a reason or She’ll get what’s coming to her or Maybe she didn’t realize what she was doing.

Validation.

Suddenly I don’t care about the spot stealer. I no longer feel the desire to curse her. Once someone acknowledged I was wronged, I could move on to wrapping up my transaction and getting on with my day.

It sounds so simple.

At a recent alopecia support group meeting, we discussed some of the responses we’ve gotten from people when sharing the news about our hair loss for the first time. The one most people preferred was “That sucks.” Because it does. Losing your hair sucks. And noone telling you that you’re overreacting or that it happened for a reason will help you accept the situation any faster.

2009-09-18T14:18:00.003-04:00

I know the rules.

When I go to a job interview, I always wear a suit. I wear nice shoes, even if they hurt my feet. Sometimes I get a manicure.

What I struggle with is the neat, professional hairstyle, because I don’t have hair.

Sure, I could wear my wig. That’s what I used to do years ago, back when I wore wigs, back when I hid behind my wig and nobody even knew I had alopecia.

But the $3,500 wig has been packed in a shoebox since 2002, the year I walked away from everything I knew and joined the Peace Corps.

It wasn’t easy. I struggled with the change from fancy hairpieces and wigs to bandannas and scarves.

Some of the volunteers thought I had cancer, as if the Peace Corps would have accepted an active chemo patient into service. They didn’t ask me about it, they asked my friends.

Some of the people in my small, volcanic island town thought I was hiding Rapunzel hair under the bandanna. “What’s your hair like under there?” they’d ask. “Is it long and beautiful?” I’d roll my eyes, throw a sideways glance their way, try to laugh it off. But I wasn’t laughing.

I wasn’t laughing when a photographer instructed me to remove the bandanna for my official permanent residence ID card photo. I wasn’t laughing when a Peace Corps doctor said I would probably want to wear a wig to the baile (dance), and not the bandanna. I wasn't laughing when an airline employee bumped me out of the first class cabin because he thought my nice headscarf wasn't dressy enough for the buddy pass dress code. I wasn't laughing when another airline employee looked at my driver's license photo with the wig, and then looked at me with the scarf, and said I looked better before.

There were times I would have given anything to have my wig back. There were times I wished I hadn't made the change to scarves.

But, gradually, I got used to the look, along with the comments and questions and challenges that came with it. Today I am the girl with the scarves, and I like it that way. I couldn't go back to wigs now.

But are headscarves appropriate job interview attire?

Maybe if you have cancer.

And therein lies the dilemma.

If I wear the scarf and don’t mention it, the interviewers will think I have cancer. They’re not supposed to ask about that kind of thing, but they will make assumptions—assumptions that affect me and my chances for proceeding to the next round or getting that job offer.

If I wear the scarf and do mention it, things get awkward fast. I’m talking about personal, private, medical stuff that’s not typically discussed in the interview format. It’s like saying, by the way, I have a wart on my big toe, and I just thought you should know that upfront.

It’s not that I mind talking about it. I just wonder whether or not I should. I wonder how to approach it. And I wonder if maybe I’m making things harder for myself when I don’t have to.

And yet.

If I were to wear the wig, I would feel like I had sold out. And that’s exactly what I’m trying not to do.

How will the world ever accept women without hair if nobody steps up and demands acceptance?

How will the world ever get used to women without hair if there are no women willing to present themselves without hair?

And really, would I even want to work for a place that wouldn't allow me to wear scarves to the office? Would I want to work in a place where the range of acceptable images didn't include my scarf look?

I need to figure this out fast. My next "interview" is coming up, an oral examination by a panel of experts about my knowledge, skills and abilities in healthcare communications.

I need a plan. I've got my ideas, but I'm open to yours. What do you think?

Picnics and Lunches and TV Segments, Oh My

2009-08-05T13:32:00.002-04:00

On Monday, my alopecia support group held its annual picnic. It’s the one time of year when the Denver alopecians get together with the families, bald adults with bald children, the patients with Dr. Norris, a prominent researcher in the field. I think this is my fourth picnic with the group, and every year I get something new out of it.

One year, Dr. Norris suggested that alopecians probably should steer clear of immunity boosting products such as Airborne. That’s because alopecia is an autoimmune disease, meaning that our immune system is already working on overdrive fighting our hair. The last thing we need is an artificial immunity boost.

Another year, Dr. Norris said he’d never seen an alopecia patient with skin cancer. Not that he was recommending sunbathing without sunscreen or spending your days in the tanning booth—we all know that’s bad. It was more of an observation—but an interesting one. What does it mean? Who knows.

Research on alopecia continues; that’s what I heard from Dr. Norris this year.

But that’s not what made an impact on me this year. Instead, it was a side conversation that sticks with me.

I was talking to some people about the Bald Girls Do Lunch segment on the Today show in late July. Bald Girls Do Lunch is a nonprofit whose mission is to help women with alopecia cope, gain confidence, and feel a sense of community—primarily by bringing them together at lunches, dinners, and events. Let’s face it, there is no cure. No promising new treatments. Not yet anyway. Bald Girls Do Lunch helps women cope effectively today.

Now, this is a group whose mission aligns with mine.

Anyway, we’re at the picnic and I bring up the segment.

“I loved it!” I say. “Finally, we’re getting some good exposure for alopecia.”

Others chime in. We smile. We high five. We celebrate. We always celebrate positive media impressions for alopecians—especially one of this magnitude. The Today Show. Wow. And what a message! Normally, television coverage focuses on getting the bald girl into some sort of wig. Not that there’s anything wrong with a wig, Lord knows I spent my share of time in one.

“But,” says a woman whose grown daughter has had alopecia for years, whose daughter experienced re-growth through three pregnancies only to lose her hair again, whose daughter isn’t even at the picnic because she lives in another state, “They looked so happy.”

“Yes,” I smile. Happy alopecians. Isn’t that great?

“They didn’t even say they were devastated,” she says.

“No,” I shake my head, still smiling. They sure didn’t say that. Hallelujah.

“They didn’t say that every day of their lives they wake up and they’re devastated,” she says.

Woah.

I suggest that maybe these ladies really are okay with it now. Maybe they used to be devastated but aren’t anymore. Maybe they feel better when they're with other people.

"But they aren't being honest," she says.

I confess that I don’t wake up every day and feel bad about my hair loss. Not now, not 17 years after the bald spot that started my total loss of scalp hair.

She couldn’t see that. She really felt that an opportunity was lost, an opportunity to convey the emotional toll that alopecia takes.

And she’s right.

Later that night, Dr. Norris commented about the emotional toll of alopecia, especially on women. He said he thinks this part of the disease is largely ignored, goes largely untreated.

And he’s right.

When my hair started to fall out, I remember crying myself to sleep every night. I stopped looking in mirrors. I refused to be in pictures. I didn’t talk about it. I closed myself off in ways I can only now see, many years later, many years after finally accepting my fate.

I think alopecia will always be an emotional disease as much as a physical one.

But…devastation isn’t a state any reasonable person wants to maintain. Devastation isn’t a healthy state of being. It just isn’t. At some point, you have to accept a life without hair.

Sure, some people get their hair back. I saw a few such people at the picnic. And they looked great. But that’s not what most of us are facing. We’re facing a life without hair.

And there are worse things in life than losing hair. Really. I can name several, real-life things that happened to people I know just this year.

So, I choose to accept my hair loss—embrace it, even. I choose to examine my life without hair, to share my experiences and observations with other people, to educate as many people as possible, and to do my part in creating a world where women do not have to feel such devastation over losing their hair. At least not over the long-term.

That’s all I can do.

And maybe—just maybe—in my lifetime I will get to see a shift in thinking about bald women.

I'm not sure this particular woman from the picnic will be among those who make that shift. But you never know. If it happened to me, it can happen to anyone.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, August 4, 2009

2009-08-05T13:27:00.003-04:00

Not sure why I look so flustered. Can't be the scarf--it's one of my faves, made by Mom just for me, a perfect option for dress-up and casual events, a perfect choice for summer or winter. I can only guess that the look on my face is in response to the abundance of zucchini that has suddenly taken over my life. Parmesan crusted zucchini rounds, anyone? Chocolate zucchini bread? Zucchini omelettes? Zucchini lasagne? Just how much can you do with zucchini? I'll let you know in a couple of weeks.

Bald? So What

2009-08-03T17:28:00.003-04:00

Sunday, July 19, was the first National Bald Out Day, organized by Mary Marshall (pictured here) of San Diego.

The idea was to encourage people without hair to come out of the wig closet for one day. The benefits were two-fold. By shedding their wigs, bald people—especially women—would increase awareness about hair loss. But also, for bald women, going out in public without their wig, their crutch, could be empowering.

How did I celebrate National Bald Out Day? Not by baring my bald head. It’s not that I didn’t support the effort. I did. I do. It sounded like a great cause.

Every now and then I consider parading around in my bare head. Okay, parading sounds a bit flamboyant for me. Every now and then I consider skulking around without anything covering my bald head—no scarf, no hat, no wig. I think about it. I even threaten to do it someday. But I don’t actually do it.

Back when P!nk launched her singing career and her rebel image, I thought the epitome of freedom was pink hair. Sporting pink hair was like an “up yours” to conformity. A freshly minted MBA at the time, I was knee deep in conformity. Corporate recruiters insisted they wanted out-of-the-box thinkers, creative problem solvers, innovative business leaders who refused to do things the way they’d always been done. But show up in a suit, please. Don’t wear any gaudy costume jewelry. No nose rings or pink hair, for God’s sake. I was the queen of conformity then, with my Ann Taylor and Jones New York outfits, my one piercing in each ear, and my shoulder-length, auburn hair, styled conservatively. I was Christy with the auburn hair, only my auburn hair wasn’t my own. It was a wig. An expensive, human hair, vacuum seal, custom-fit wig designed to look natural. That wig helped me feel normal. But deep inside I longed to show up at work with pink hair. I couldn’t do it.

Today I could do it. But pink hair is no longer the epitome of freedom to me. Now it’s a bald head. And I can’t do it.

While island hopping around Greece after college, my naïve American eyes noticed something different about the women on the beaches: they were topless. Skinny women, fat women, old women, young women, exotic women, even mustached and bearded women paraded—yes, paraded around the white sand in bikini bottoms and bare torsos. I envied their freedom. I wanted a piece of it, to feel it, if only for just a day. Every morning I told myself, “This is the day I will go topless in Greece.” And every day I put on my bikini top, or my one-piece bathing suit. Nobody—not one person in Santorini, Paros, or Mykonos—cared what I wore on the beach. But I cared.

I said I was worried about tan lines. The topless women in Greece had tanned torsos, the result of being unencumbered by a need for tops on the beach. When I glanced across black sand or blue waters, I couldn’t immediately tell the difference between the men and women. I just saw a sea of bronzed bodies in colorful bikini bottoms. If I went topless, well…that would be different. I’d have a white stripe across my chest. Whereas they blended in, I would stand out.

I said I was worried about blistering my virgin skin. I’d had sunburns before, and I said I just couldn’t risk another bad burn on my white, white skin.

Now I say the same about my scalp. I couldn’t possibly bare my naked scalp, because I’m worried about tan lines. I have tan lines on my forehead from wearing a bandanna. I might blister the virgin skin of my scalp.

The truth is, I’m just not free enough to take this step. It’s still out of reach.

For now.

But I'm hoping that one day I'll be able to parade around town without anything covering my head and say, "Sure, I'm bald. So what?!"

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Monday, August 3, 2009

2009-08-03T17:19:00.003-04:00

Okay, this wasn't taken today, and it's not a pañuelo, it's a fuzzy hat. But it's an important hat, because it's what I sleep in every night. Yes, even in the summer. I'm on the right side of the photo, and that's Dee on the left, on our girls vacation last September.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, August 2, 2009

2009-08-03T17:13:00.003-04:00

Again, I like the darker scarves as opposed to the lighter ones. But Mom found this fabric and whipped up this scarf, and it does match some of my clothes, so...I still wear it.

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, August 1, 2009

2009-08-03T17:12:00.001-04:00

This is another scarf made with love by Mom. Thank God for Moms.

pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 31, 2009

2009-08-03T17:09:00.002-04:00

The sun finally came out again today, and I couldn't wait to soak it up.

This scarf is from Coldwater Creek. I bought it at last year's summer clearance sale. They had tons. It wasn't cheap, maybe $7 at deep discounted prices. But still, it's fun, and I do like pink.

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 30, 2009

2009-08-03T17:07:00.003-04:00

This brown and blue and khaki scarf was made by Mom. I like the darker scarves best, but this one does match a whole lot of clothes.

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 29. 2009

2009-08-03T17:04:00.002-04:00

This black-and-white bandanna scarf is from Hobby Lobby.

Just in case you're wondering, the background is a painting of Yellow Dog, may he rest in peace. Greg Johnson painted the portrait. I can connect you to him if you're interested in commissioning a portrait of your beloved pet. He's good.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, July 28, 2009

2009-07-31T22:37:00.002-04:00

This black-and-white scarf was another Mom purchase. And speaking of Mom, that's her on the right. She probably won't like that I put her picture in here, but I get tired of the solo photos. We're at a restaurant celebrating June and July birthdays with friends and a couple of margaritas.

pañuelo of the day: Monday, July 27, 2009

2009-07-31T22:31:00.003-04:00

Day 2 of Housesitting at Amy's. The scarf is a green Hobby Lobby bandanna.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, July 26, 2009

2009-07-31T22:28:00.002-04:00

Today I started a housesitting gig at my friend Amy's house. Nice pond, huh?

The pink scarf came from Mom. It's a casual hangout scarf, probably purchased at Goodwill or a resale shop.

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, July 25, 2009

2009-07-31T22:25:00.002-04:00

BBQ! Today I saw a bunch of Colorado friends at an evening cookout party. Of course, it rained. And I was still hobbling. But it was great to see people. Joanne gave me the new chile pepper scarf. Not sure where she got it. Guess I should have asked.

pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 24, 2009

2009-07-31T22:19:00.002-04:00

Another long day, followed by a big rest on the couch. Scarf? This pink-and-blue number is one of my favorite workout and hangout scarves. I think Mom bought it, but I have no idea where from. Maybe she'll check the blog and fill us in.

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 23, 2009

2009-07-31T22:16:00.003-04:00

This is another work scarf: browns and black, made by Mom. Perfect for a day of meetings.

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 22, 2009

2009-07-31T22:10:00.004-04:00

Today was the big interview day, and I wore the famous black scarf. But afterwards, when I was breathing a sigh of relief that it was over, I rested in another new scarf, a Mom purchase from Goodwill. I had trouble capturing the blue and green on the bottom, so I put in two photos.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, July 21, 2009

2009-07-31T21:59:00.002-04:00

Of course, Mom gifted me with new scarves the minute I stepped into Colorado. This one is my new favorite. I think she got it at Goodwill, or at a resale shop. As I understand it, the scarf was much bigger when she purchased it. But Mom is clever with a sewing machine. So she cut the material in half and made two scarves: one for me and one for my niece Lindsey. Love the blues!

pañuelo of the day: Monday, July 20, 2009

2009-07-31T21:54:00.003-04:00

We made it! Here I am in Broomfield, Colorado, resting at my sister's house. I look pretty worn out. And I am. Luckily, we made good time and arrived before the big storm, which did millions of dollars in damage to the area.

The scarf is one Mom bought at Goodwill.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, July 19, 2009

2009-07-31T21:48:00.004-04:00

Still driving, clearly. This time from Springfield to Salina, Kansas. I don't recommend this driving distance...it was way too long a day.

The scarf is a Hobby Lobby bandanna. Much cuter than yesterday, but I may have been more tired.

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, July 18: 2009

2009-07-31T21:41:00.003-04:00

This is me on the road, driving from DC to Springfield, Missouri. I'm at the Holiday Inn, with Mom, my travel angel. She helped me with the driving, since I was suffering from a sprained ankle. Still am, nearly two weeks later. What can I say? It was a bad sprain.

Anyway, the scarf is a Hobby Lobby camouflage bandanna.

pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 17, 2009

2009-07-17T22:27:00.001-04:00

Mom made this scarf. If I look dead tired in this photo, it's because I am dead tired. I'll try for a better look tomorrow.

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 16, 2009

2009-07-17T22:24:00.002-04:00

This is another Hobby Lobby scarf, a blue-and-purple one. I had to take two photos so you could see the pattern, though with the poor lighting, you can't see much of the purple. Or maybe that's just my computer screen. Or my tired eyes.

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 15, 2009

2009-07-15T23:25:00.003-04:00

I think this red flowery scarf is a Hobby Lobby find, back when Hobby Lobby made scarves a little bigger. I can't be sure. All I know is: It matches my cute red shirt perfectly, and I have a mojito in my hand, so life is good.

Comfortable in My Own Skin

2009-07-14T22:00:00.009-04:00

When I made the transition from wigs to scarves, I remember being uncomfortable. I did not look people in the eye; I studied the floor, the ceiling, the space just beyond someone’s shoulder. I remember wishing I were invisible, that I could blend into the background, that the earth would swallow me up.

What I didn’t know then, but know now, is that everyone knew it.

I signed up for the Peace Corps knowing I would have to let go of my anonymity. I saw the video, the girl who says all the unwanted attention is a little much sometimes. I got it. I was okay with it. In my interview, I repeatedly said, “No problem” to everything they threw my way. Extra attention? No problem. Unwanted attention? No problem. I was going to stand out, and it wasn’t a problem.

And it wasn’t—eventually. I got used to being recognized, followed, stared at, and yes, even complimented. I even grew to like it, to need it, to crave it. I enjoyed being the It Girl in town. Sometimes I miss it, even now, seven years after my arrival in Honduras, five years since my return.

But those first few days, with my naked scalp wrapped in a scarf, just a scarf, only a scarf—I felt so exposed. I felt it, but I didn’t know that people could see it. I didn’t know how obvious it was, how visible, until a month ago, when I was tagged in a photo posted on Facebook, by a fellow volunteer, from the very first day in country.

And then I saw it, so clearly, a woman I didn't even recognize anymore, the me I used to be before I was comfortable in my own skin.

Day 1 in Honduras
The shift from wig to scarf, just a scarf, only a scarf

A bright swatch of fabric, announcing my entrance into a room
The scarf was looser, lower on my forehead
Perhaps I tie it tighter now
But that’s not why I look so different
I hold my arms close to my center
As if to protect myself
From what? I can’t recall
The girl in this photo looks both ways when she steps into a room
She doesn’t look people in the eye
She has erected walls
She is me, but she isn’t me
I don’t know this girl anymore

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, July 14, 2009

2009-07-14T21:56:00.002-04:00

This scarf is a great summer option. It's lightweight and a fun summery color. Mom picked the fabric and sewed this one, and then we shopped for days to find matching outfits. Tip: Browns are hard to match. Bring the scarf with you to your favorite clothing store.

pañuelo of the day: Monday, July 13, 2009

2009-07-14T21:54:00.002-04:00

This is a blue Hobby Lobby scarf, which I sported here in Northern Virginia while I limped and hobbled and rested. A whole day without driving. Ahhh.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, July 12, 2009

2009-07-14T21:41:00.001-04:00

Another staged photo, taken today of the bandanna scarf I wore on the drive from upstate NY to Northern Virginia on Sunday. I call this scarf my Harley bandanna, even though I got it at Hobby Lobby, which is pretty much the opposite of a Harley store.

I'm waiting on a photo of me applying the RICE treatment: Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. I wouldn't normally want to share this type of photo with the world (and I won't if it turns out bad), but it was taken of me and little Anna, an adorable four-year old who was fascinated by my swollen and bruised ankle. So fascinated that she insisted on wrapping her leg in my Ace bandage, and icing her foot alongside me. I hope it comes soon, and it's good, so I can post it. (For now, use your imagination.)

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, July 11, 2009

2009-07-14T21:33:00.003-04:00

Another staged photo: This is the dress and scarf I wore to a fancy dinner out in Saratoga Springs with friends Saturday night. Only, it took so much energy to hobble around that there was none left for photo taking.

As for the scarf, I have to be honest. I have no idea where this one came from. I'm assuming Mom gave it to me, but I'm not sure if she got it from Goodwill, or from a box of old clothes she meant to give to Goodwill but never did. Maybe she'll respond and enlighten us.

pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 10, 2009

2009-07-14T21:20:00.003-04:00

Okay, this is where the staged photos begin. On Thursday night, I sprained my ankle. And no, I don't have a great story. I was standing, then I was falling, then I was hobbling. I've been hobbling ever since. Of course, I kept moving, from idyllic Southern Vermont (site of accident) to upstate New York. But somehow, taking a photo seemed to be where I had to draw the line. I can assure you, however, that this brown scarf, made by my Mom, was the one I wore on Friday, with this very shirt. But in the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit the photo was taken today, back in Northern Virginia.

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 9, 2009

2009-07-14T21:04:00.005-04:00

At Ben & Jerry's for the tour, the graveyard of retired flavors, a scoop of peanut butter cookie dough, and some spin art. A worthwhile excursion.

This is my purple scarf, a favorite for casual and dressup. Mom made it, or maybe it was Denise? Either way, I hope it never goes to the graveyard. Ever.

Peace, Love & Icecream...Now this is my kind of place.

Chocolate peanut butter cookie dough went to the graveyard? What?!

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 8, 2009

2009-07-09T07:07:00.002-04:00

The scarf is a black-and-white sunburst print from Coldwater Creek. When I don't have a perfect color match, I just pair a shirt with a black-and-white print and black pants.

As for my podium look, that's going to take some work.

Benefit of Not Having Hair #6: Prep Time

2009-07-08T08:40:00.002-04:00

I don't think I've ever been more exhausted than I am here at my MFA residency. It's not just the schedule; it's the emotional drain of sharing open wounds with each other. That's what writers do. We don't start with what we did over the weekend; we start with the traumas and tragedies in our lives, the things that drew us to writing and that we share in our stories. Don't get me wrong; I love it. But it's tiring. We're also putting ourselves out there. I've read my work in an official "reading" for the first time. I'm getting my work critiqued. The good news? Well, there's lots of good news. So I'll stick to the hair-related variety here. Since I don't have to wash my hair, I am able to get ready much faster than most. Which is good, considering how tired I am each day.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, July 7, 2009

2009-07-08T08:35:00.002-04:00

Downtown Montpelier: Is this a Main Street or what? I went down to the used bookstore in the morning to buy some of my books for the semester. The town has a nice vibe, a very anti-conformity vibe.

The scarf was made by Mom; it's been a favorite this week. Too bad you can't see the striped pants, a perfect color match. Good thing you can't see the pants, after all the food we've been eating. (The food is provided by a culinary institute; not the dorm food I remember!)

pañuelo of the day: Monday, July 6, 2009

2009-07-08T08:31:00.003-04:00

Everyone is so nice at Vermont College. When I had my first breakdown, my new poet friend gave me a card about courage. I have to remind myself: It takes courage to put yourself out there. Another poet friend gave me flowers from her garden; I came back to my dorm room to find them, fresh, in a vase, by my door.

The scarf is a solid brown bandanna from Hobby Lobby.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, July 5, 2009

2009-07-05T10:25:00.005-04:00

Later in the day I bought maple syrup and visited with the llamas. Maple syrup - expensive. Llamas - very cute. I also sampled my first creamee, a soft serve cone of maple ice cream. Ok, well, I say sample but what I really mean is I ate a medium cone. Delish.

This morning the sun was actually out. We've heard about sun in Vermont, but we hadn't seen it yet. I took advantage and went on a short walk this morning. I selected the blue house for my background today because it matches my eyes. And I like blue. And I like the idea of blue houses.

Oh yeah, the scarf. It's another black one, made by Mom. And no, I am not cheating. I own several black scarves. I will photograph them all together later and post just so you'll see I'm telling the truth.

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, July 4, 2009

2009-07-05T10:18:00.003-04:00

This scarf was made by Mom. It really does match my shirt, but you can't tell, b/c the green part of the shirt is at the bottom. So you're just going to have to trust me on this. It is not very Fourth of July-ish. But then, the day didn't feel very Fourth of July-ish. I went to 3 lectures and a reading. I had a meeting with a graduate assistant about my work. It was a busy school day, not a day off, not a break, not a holiday. (Though, we did have a cookout.)

P.S. The building in the background is my dorm. Cute, huh?

pañuelo of the day: Friday, July 3, 2009

2009-07-04T15:58:00.003-04:00

This scarf was made by Mom. You can't tell but it's black with streaks of gray, burgundy, and purple. And it matches my necklace, which is important.

I am standing in front of Noble Hall, where I've attended 8 lectures, 31 student readings, and a handful of faculty readings in less than a week. This is the spot from which I watched the Montpelier Fourth of July fireworks display. So yes, I've already watched my holiday fireworks. Not much when compared to Thunder Over Louisville, the largest annual fireworks show in the country, but still, beautiful.

Would you rather...

2009-07-03T09:40:00.000-04:00

Have noticeable bald spots on your head or noticeable acne on your face?

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, July 2, 2009

2009-07-03T09:14:00.004-04:00

This is one of my oldest and worn-out scarves, a Hobby Lobby bandanna scarf.

Happy Anniversary Melanie and Glenn!

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, July 1, 2009

2009-07-03T09:06:00.002-04:00

Too busy.

Too tired.

Too rainy.

Too hard.

This has been my life the past couple of days, here in Vermont as I begin my writing program. I've even thought about moving to a scarf of the week while I'm here, but I worked too hard to pack only outfits that matched scarves I haven't worn yet since starting the blog, and wouldn't want to waste all that effort. So I'm back...catching up on my posts and sharing more scarves.

This scarf was a Goodwill find (thanks Mom). Note: Montpelier is such a cute town; see the houses in the background? I think I could be happy here.

pañuelo of the day: June 30, 2009

2009-06-30T22:24:00.004-04:00

This is me, exhausted, in my sand-colored Buzz Off, mosquito-repelling scarf. The cinder block walls make it look like I'm in prison, when actually I am in my dorm room: 313, the same room I had in college. The group shower is down the hall; the bathroom is next door. The bed is a twin bed; the school-issued blanket has holes. A window fan cools the room, but just a little. The rain is much more effective. Despite the challenges, I sleep well at night, because I am plain old wiped out. Speaking of which, I'm signing off now. Good night, folks.

pañuelo of the day: Monday, June 29, 2009

2009-06-29T22:02:00.002-04:00

This is a green Hobby Lobby bandanna scarf - the perfect color for Vermont, which is green in color, and green in its environmentally sound practices, and green in name: The Green Mountain State.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, June 28, 2009

2009-06-28T21:34:00.006-04:00

This scarf may have been made by Denise, my sister's friend. She partnered up with Melanie one year for Christmas to increase my scarf collection. As I recall, Melanie selected and purchased fabrics; Denise sewed the scarves. Six headscarves. (Thanks Melanie and Denise, wherever you are.) Of course, it also could have been made by Mom. As you are starting to see, Mom makes a lot of my scarves. (Thanks Mom.) It's hard to keep track.

Just a note: The second photo today was taken at the Visitor Center at the Connecticut/Vermont border.

A nice young man saw me doing the self-portrait thing and kindly offered to take a picture of me. I didn't bother to tell him that the purpose of the photo was the scarf and not the Visitor Center. Oh well, now I have documentation that I really am in Vermont. In case any of you were skeptical.

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, June 27, 2009

2009-06-27T12:53:00.003-04:00

I don't know where I got this scarf. Mom probably bought it at Goodwill. That's where most of the mystery scarves come from. You can't tell from this photo, but the scarf design includes pretty pink flowers, which is why I matched it with a pretty pink shirt. I tried to get a better angle, but I'm supposed to be on the road now, and I'm still packing, and jumping through hoops for my job search, and doing my homework. After 25 tries, some of just the tip of my head and others showing double, if not triple chins, I gave up. Matching or not, it's still a lovely scarf.

Okay, so where am I heading? Vermont. Tomorrow is Day 1 of my low-residency MFA in Creative Writing program. I am very excited! But I'm not sure how much time - or Internet access - I'll have. So be warned: Things will be posted, but I have no idea when or how much or how often.

Thanks to everyone who signed on as a follower and to everyone who reads my ramblings. Later!

pañuelo of the day: Friday, June 26, 2009

2009-06-26T13:09:00.002-04:00

It's Go Yellow For Mums Friday, the day my friend Taryn has asked her peeps to wear yellow in support of her cancer-battling mother. I wish I could wear yellow, but it's not my color. So I'm sporting this tie-dye Hobby Lobby bandanna instead. Lots of yellow. Lots of memories too. My friend Colleen, may she rest in peace, had the same bandanna. She may have even bought this one for me. She lost her cancer battle, but left a lasting impression on me. We did triathlons together. She introduced me to most of my Colorado friends. I went to her chemo treatments and took her wig shopping. I wore my first bandanna with her after years of hiding behind wigs. She sent me quarterly care packages when I lived in Honduras. We had a lot of laughs together. Cancer sucks. It takes a lot of good people from us, too soon. So today I'm wearing this panuelo in support of Taryn's mom and her recovery, and for all my loved ones who have been affected by cancer, and for all who have survived this disease, for those who are fighting it right now, and of course for Colleen, who is no longer with us.

Benefit of Not Having Hair #5: A Built-in Recession Proof Hair Care Plan

2009-06-26T07:41:00.004-04:00

In these hard times, a lot of people are talking about how to cut back on hair care. They're waiting more time inbetween haircuts, buying generic products, even dilluting shampoos with water to make them last longer. I don't have hair, so my hair care plan is pretty simple. I wash my head in the shower with soap. It's a bare bones hair care plan for a bare head. And believe me, that's about all my budget can afford right now. Lucky me!

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, June 25, 2009

2009-06-25T20:21:00.002-04:00

This was my Aunt Ruth's scarf years ago. She probably wore it on her waist or around her neck. Me? I wear it on my head. Of course. Thanks Ruth!

Acceptance: It's a Process

2009-06-25T09:47:00.015-04:00

Oh. My. God. Gasp! Now I’ve seen it all. Oh, no you didn’t. What a giant step backwards. How sad. How awful. Poor guy. Aw. Man, it sucks to be bald.

These are just some of the thoughts swirling around my head since first seeing this photo. I thought I’d settle on one reaction and write about that, but it wasn’t that simple.

You know what this is, right? It’s a tattoo. Of hair. On a balding head. And it’s coming to the United States of America as a solution for the follicly challenged. (Yes, I’m making up words, get over it.) The man in the photo is a HiStyl client after receiving tattoos.

I don’t know why I had such a negative string of reactions to this solution.

Perhaps I was responding to it as a sort of fraud, tattooed hair follicles held out as real when they’re not. From across a room, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between tattooed hair and natural hair. From this close-up picture, I can’t even tell where the actual hairline ends and the tattoo begins. Can you? But then I can’t always tell who is wearing a wig and who isn’t, and I know the signs. For years I wore a very natural hairpiece that fooled a lot of people. How is a tattoo of hair follicles any different? And what is so wrong with the pretense of being natural if it makes you more comfortable?

Maybe, then, my response was so strong because tattoos are just too permanent. What if you experience a re-growth? (It happens.) Or the opposite – what if you experience additional hair loss? Then you’d have a gap between the tattooed hair follicles and the natural ones. Of course, there are remedies for these things. And couldn’t the same be said of tattooed eyebrows? When I lost my brow hairs, I considered this option. I didn’t do it, and my eyebrows grew back in – lighter, lower, sparser. I’m glad I didn’t get tattooed eyebrows, but I’ve never had a negative reaction to them on others.

Hmmm…I am starting to think my initial rejection of tattooed hair follicles came from my new philosophy of acceptance. No, really. I want so badly to live in a world where people without hair feel beautiful and accepted and confident, not shameful and sad and isolated. I wear the scarves. I try to set an example. I blog. I spread the word about alopecia. All in an attempt to create a world of acceptance.

I guess I got so caught up in my vision that I forgot the meaning of the word, and that true acceptance means allowing people to make their own choices and then supporting them in whatever they choose. For that, I apologize.

Today, my solution is a pañuelo, a colorful scarf that matches my outfit and lets my head breathe. For others, it could be a natural hairpiece made of human hair, or hair transplants, or a pink wig or fun hats or even a proudly bared bald head. Or even tattooed hair follicles.

Whatever makes you happy, and comfortable, and confident, I’m for that.

Want to see some people who really are comfortable with their differences? Check out this article from Mental Floss Magazine. It's not what you think.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, June 24, 2009

2009-06-24T16:53:00.001-04:00

This pink-and-white scarf was a Goodwill find. Thanks Mom!

Would you rather...

2009-06-24T09:31:00.000-04:00

Would you rather lose your hair or a lose a finger?

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, June 23, 2009

2009-06-23T13:29:00.004-04:00

Mom made this fun scarf, black and bright. Perfect for a sunny day!

pañuelo of the day: Monday, June 22, 2009

2009-06-22T15:50:00.002-04:00

Mom made this scarf...browns and blue-greens.

P.S. I purposely didn't apply brow tint and mascara today, just to get used to the look. Not as bad as I thought, so long as I continue to wear glasses.

Letting Go

2009-06-22T15:01:00.006-04:00

I hold onto things. It’s my way.

Bank statements, signed yearbooks, partially filled journals, scratched up leather purses, clothes I’m going to fit into again one day, cute shoes I would love to wear if only they didn’t hurt my feet so badly, photos of people I don’t even remember…I still have my tax records from my college years, report cards from elementary school, expired driver’s licenses and passports.

Call it sentimental. Call it research for my book. Call it the hoarding gene. Any which way you dice it, it’s over the top. And it has been weighing me down and holding me back—which is why I decided to make 2009 My Year of Letting Go.

I started the year with a colon cleanse, to let go of the toxins in my body. Bye bye holiday sugar, fat, alcohol, and caffeine.

Next I played with a shredder to safely and securely let go of an entire filebox of unnecessary papers. Good riddance paystubs from old jobs and utility bills from prior residences.

In February and March, I let go of two dozen shopping bags full of used-up and useless material possessions. So long moth-eaten sweaters, faded and bleach-stained t-shirts, blister-causing heels, tapered-legged suits, and many, many miscellaneous never-gonna-be-used-in-my-lifetime household items.

It was working. After dozens of trips to the alley recycling bin and neighborhood Goodwill, my load was lighter, for sure. But I was still feeling burdened by old grudges, wounds, anger, other people’s expectations, and a few societal norms I no longer believed but by which I continued to measure my success.

To let go of these long-held patterns and deeply rooted belief structures, I was going to need the help of a professional. Enter licensed practitioner Joanne Wambeke of Colorado Healing Services.

In our session, Joanne used the Japanese healing art of jin shin jyutsu to find – and treat – my internal energy blocks. Not acupuncture, but accupressure. Not needles, but the gentle pressure of fingertips. I’m sure it worked, because the longer I lay on the massage table in the dark, listening to soothing music, the more relaxed I felt. Farewell, accumulated energy. Hello, natural energy flow and clearer thinking.

The harmonization of energy and pulsation was followed by a secret Letting Go ceremony, involving the release of my inhibiting beliefs into a small body of water. Well, at least the beliefs I could think of in a 15-minute meditation and fit on a small piece of dissolving paper, which was released into a water-filled kitchen sink. The voices of an overbearing boss, judgmental relative, and lying ex faded and slipped out of reach.

I’ve taken my Letting Go goal very seriously – except, it seems, when it comes to my hair. Sure, now I talk openly about my alopecia when once I went to great lengths to hide it. Yes, now I laugh about being called a pirate when once I couldn’t even say the word “wig” because I was so ashamed of my hair loss. Certainly, I’ve come a long way.

Actually, I’ve come so far that it took me awhile to realize I was still holding onto anything related to my hair.

I was researching the official definitions of alopecia and all the types—areata, totalis, universalis—so I could explain the differences here in the blog.

Always, I’ve been an areata, the type of alopecia characterized by patchy hair loss. It started with one small, quarter-sized bald spot. Then the spot multiplied, and multiplied again, like rapidly dividing cells, creating one big bald patch on the left side of my head, another on the right side, another in the back. But still, patchy: large bald patches paired with smaller patches of hair. That is, until this year, my Year of Letting Go.

Here on the blog, and to anyone who'd listen, I’ve been going on about my three remaining hairs, posting pictures of them, joking about them, carefully pulling them out from behind the scarf before I head out each day, all the time ignoring the fact that three hairs no longer qualifies as a patch. Three wiry hairs means I have transitioned from alopecia areata to alopecia totalis, or total loss of scalp hair.

It shouldn’t matter. I mean, I’m okay being a bald girl. I am. I don’t expect to get my hair back. Ever. I’m okay with that. And it’s not like anything has changed from yesterday. I only had three wiry hairs yesterday. I’ve had three wiry hairs all year, which sounds like a long time until you realize I started losing my hair in 1994. I’ve been an areata for 15 years, and now suddenly, for no apparent reason, I’ve become a totalis.

Before I can even accept my new label, I find myself worrying about slippery slopes, and transitioning from totalis to universalis, which is a total loss of body hair. No more eyebrows. No more eyelashes. No more stray hair on my leg. Not that stray hairs on my leg are a big problem. But still…

All of a sudden I’m more acutely aware of a loose lash, the shape of my eyebrow. Is it happening now? Will it happen soon? Will I know it when it happens? Will I see a clump of lashes on my mascara wand one day? Should I stop using mascara? Can you stop the progression? Can you slow it?

And here I am again, holding onto hairs, and beliefs about their significance, and the comfort of old labels.

I feel a knot in my chest. My heart rate rises. This is not good. I must take action immediately.

So today, in My Year of Letting Go, I am publicly letting go. I’m letting go of my need to know, to control, and to label. I'm letting go of my belief that eyebrows and lashes somehow make me more normal. I'm letting go of wanting to be normal. Even better, I'm letting go of my definition of what it means to be normal. Again.

It is what it is. And whatever it is, I’ll be okay.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, June 21, 2009

2009-06-21T22:20:00.003-04:00

Too bad Joanne is in at the Qi-gong retreat this week instead of on email. This scarf used to be hers, and I don't think she's seen me wear it. Thanks Joanne!

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, June 20, 2009

2009-06-20T17:22:00.004-04:00

Again, Mom made this scarf. Lucky for me, it matches my dress perfectly. Yes, a dress. Tonight I am going to a summer solstice party. Not a dressy party, but to me, summer means dresses. And I happen to be a big fan of dresses.

pañuelo of the day: Friday, June 19, 2009

2009-06-19T23:11:00.004-04:00

This scarf is from Hobby Lobby - a location with lots of starter scarves in bandanna size. I look mad or sad but it's only because the sun finally came out today and I was blinded by the brightness. That's what happens after dreary days in the rain...you squint when you come into the light. Trust me, it was a perfectly good day and I feel fine.

Benefit of Not Having Hair #4: No Hair in the Shower Drain

2009-06-19T12:38:00.006-04:00

I hate collecting wadded up hair from the bottom of the shower. Maybe it's because I have no hair, which means I know it's not MY hair, but that of a guest or a host or some random hotel customer who left me his or her hair. Yuck. The good news? I almost NEVER have to do this.

What I Know

2009-06-19T09:19:00.008-04:00

It’s just hair.
What a ridiculous blog topic.
Get over yourself.
Who cares about hair loss?

And yet.

People do care about hair, a lot more than they’re willing to admit.

How else would you explain the fascination with Britney’s head shaving? What about Colbert shaving his head in support of the troops? Forget about shaving…what about the girl on America’s Next Top Model who cried when they wanted to cut her hair?

How else would you explain the reaction of 52-year old Jessie to her new hairdo on What Not to Wear last Friday?

I’m a What Not to Wear addict. You know the show: stylists transform fashion disasters with age-appropriate, tasteful, professional, modern, flattering clothing. Sure, Stacy and Clinton can be a little mean. But they never insult a person’s body. Instead, they rip up a person’s clothes: grandma’s yellowing slips worn as dresses, leopard skin spandex tights, crochet vests, high-waisted Mom jeans, plaid pajama pants worn to the grocery store, and the occasional odd accessory like butterfly wings or a fuzzy tail. (Seriously, some of these people need their wardrobes ripped up—literally.) I’m a fan.

So you can imagine how excited I was to learn that the seventh season had officially kicked off and that new episodes would be airing on Friday nights again. (I need a life, but that’s another blog post.) What a lineup! Blossom, a roller derby queen, a big-haired Texan…I couldn’t wait to sit on the couch and soak in the style lessons.

Most of the time, the fashion makeover candidate walks away not just with a more polished look, but more confidence. But not Jessie, the glitzy, stuck-in-the-80s divorcee. She missed her old hair: her too blonde, too-sprayed, too “Big-as-Texas” hair. She cried, withdrew, asked her male friends not to come to her reveal party, and couldn’t enjoy the experience. She said she’d never have a date again in her life because her long hair was now short hair. She couldn’t wait to get her old hair back, even after all her friends and family raved over her new look.

Some say she’s ungrateful. Others say she’s got issues. Others agree with her and think Nick messed this one up. You can check out the new do here and decide for yourself.

I happen to like it. Of course, I’m not the best judge. I don’t even have hair. What do I know?

Let me tell you. I know that bald can be beautiful, because I’ve seen it. I know that we are more than our hair, because I’ve lived it. I know that life goes on, and sometimes gets better, after hair loss.

I wouldn’t wish what I’ve been through on anyone, but I wish that more people knew what I know. I wish Jessie knew.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, June 18, 2009

2009-06-18T23:23:00.003-04:00

This scarf is from Talbots, though I don't think that's where we actually bought it. I believe Mom got this one at Goodwill.

If I Had a Million Dollars

2009-06-17T21:54:00.008-04:00

Baby fuzz. Say the words and hearts start melting. See that soft, fine hair on an infant’s head and your hand automatically reaches out to touch, pat, or pet. Oohs and ahhs and a drawn-out “aw” spontaneously slip from your mouth.

Now imagine that same soft, fine hair on the balding head of a grown woman. On me.

In my world, talks of baby fuzz mean I have a spot of new hair growth. My baby fuzz is soft, but not cute. Certainly not ooh-and-ahh inspiring or aw-worthy. More like patchy. Well, more like one small patch on the left side of my scalp. Or a handful of hairs at my hairline. The hairs are blonde, fine, sparse. They come and they go, to where I don’t know. I don’t see them on the inside of my scarf, the pañuelo of the day. I don’t see them at the bottom of my shower drain or on my pillow. They just disappear.

I know better than to get excited about baby fuzz on my head. But I can’t help but be curious—what if? I find myself studying my head in the mirror. Touching, patting, petting it. Wondering: What if it were to grow back? What would I do?

It’s like playing the lottery. I know the odds are low, but even so, even when I forget to buy a ticket, I still like to think—what if? If I had a million dollars, ten million, a hundred million, what would I do? How would I spend it?

Of course I can’t know for sure until it happens. But I have a rough plan, at least for the lottery winnings.

For the hair, I have no such plan. If it did grow back–and I know people who’ve experienced re-growth–I wouldn’t know what to do.

It’s been so long since I’ve had hair, I no longer remember what to do with it. A couple of weeks ago my cousin asked me to put a new clip in the back of her hair and I froze. Do I grab all the hair with the clip or only a portion of it? Do I use my hands or is the clip grip sufficient?

I look at my niece’s long hair and I don’t remember how to twist it into a French braid.

I don't remember how much prep time to allow for hairstyling. I don't even own a blow-dryer. Or a curling iron. Or a snag-free ponytail holder.

But that’s not the hard part. I would relearn hair care if it came to that.

The hard part would be trusting a brush not to tug the hair right out of my scalp. I don't know if I could highlight my hair or perm or cut it ever again and not worry that it would cause a bout of hair loss. I would be afraid to wash it.

The hard part would be relaxing enough to let someone touch my hair. I don't know if I could allow a man to run his fingers through it or a small child comb it without wanting to check their hands, the ground, my head for loose hairs.

The hard part would be believing my hair would still be attached to my head when I woke up.

The hard part would be figuring out who I was all over again—with hair. After spending so much time learning to embrace myself without it.

I used to ask the Universe every day to give me my hair back. Now I’m not sure I could handle it. Even more important, I’m not sure I’d want it.

Better to have something I'm prepared for, like the million dollars.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, June 17, 2009

2009-06-17T18:18:00.005-04:00

Guess who made this pink and black scarf? That's right! Mom.

Thought the bright color would cheer my dreary, rainy day...not sure it worked. But I'll keep working on it.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, June 16, 2009

2009-06-16T17:27:00.005-04:00

This purple scarf is another one from Hobby Lobby. Great color! More bandanna than scarf, but when folded properly, it does the job.

What's that crazy background, you ask? It's laundry day, and in the background you see scarves hanging on the line. The line being my bathroom shower rod. I like things to air dry.

pañuelo of the day: Monday, June 15, 2009

2009-06-15T12:41:00.002-04:00

More purple. Did I mention I love purple?

Mom made this scarf too.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, June 14, 2009

2009-06-14T19:00:00.004-04:00

This photo is for Mom...she'll know why.

Purple scarf, made by her. We like purple.

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, June 13, 2009

2009-06-14T00:02:00.003-04:00

Tomas and I wish Mom a Happy Birthday!

The blue scarf is one she sewed for me.

Mom: The One Constant in my Hair Loss Saga

2009-06-13T23:12:00.010-04:00

We had been in Parsippany for a year, maybe two, when Mom discovered my first bald spot. I was four years old.

The way she tells it, she had been tickling me on her bed when she accidentally observed a round patch of bare skin on my scalp.

I can picture the two of us trying to be quiet while Melanie naps in the second bedroom. I am sitting on the thin, ribbed, yellow bedspread, watching Mom fold Dad’s white undershirts into neat little packages the size of a slice of Wonder bread. One by one, she stacks the slices on the bed and then walks the whole loaf to a drawer. I follow her every move with my eyes and mindlessly stroke my sockless foot.

“We got a lot done today, Miss Christy Lou Who.” She talks just above a whisper as she approaches the bed, grinning. “Now it’s Christy time.”

"Mommy, there’s no such thing as Christy time.” I giggle.

“What? Of course there is! It starts like this.” She leans in and tickles my belly.

“Mommy, stop!” I squeal, erupt in laughter, and wriggle my slender body away from her spidery hands. I am not fast enough to escape, nor do I want to be.

“In Christy time, everything is backwards. Stop means go! Stop means more! Are you sure you want me to stop?” She is fluttering her hands on my arms and my feet.

“Mommy!” I extend my arms to push her away, and jerk my head back and forth. My long blonde hair flies in every direction.

“Oh. Oh my.”

It takes me a few seconds to realize the tickling has stopped. I relax all my muscles and sink into the mattress. I am breathing heavy from the fight.

“Sit up, baby.” She pats the bed.

I sit up, dangling my feet over the side of the mattress.

“Stay still a minute.”

I stay still, but my eyes wander the room. I look at the yellow lamp on the nightstand. At the wall closet with the open accordion door. At Mom’s blouses and mini dresses hanging on the rod. Such pretty bright colors and patterns.

Mom probes my scalp with her long, slender fingers. It calms me. My breathing slows.

“Mommy, why does Melanie have curly hair and I don’t?” I tilt my head.

“Everybody’s different, Christy. Some people have beautiful curly hair like your sister and some people have beautiful straight hair like you.” Mom has found the bald patch on my head. She is touching the raw skin, just like I will years later.

“Is that why you don’t have blonde hair like we do?” I close my eyes and lean into my mother’s touch. I don’t know what she’s doing, just that it feels good. “Cuz everybody’s different?”

“Well, yes and no. Some things you can get from your mommy and daddy. You girls get your blonde hair from your daddy. He had blonde hair when he was a baby.” She gently pushes my head down. My long locks cascade over my face.

“But his hair changed to brown when he got bigger?” I am a rag doll.

“Yes, yes it did.” Mom’s brow furrows but her tone remains calm. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. I fold into her arms.

“Is my hair going to change when I get bigger Mommy?”

“I don’t know. Probably.” She holds on for several minutes.

***

My hair changed alright, in ways we never imagined. Through it all, Mom was by my side. She researched alopecia and found doctors, support groups, wig shops, and berets. She yelled and threw fits when I wasn't treated the way she thought I should be. She sewed Velcro strips of hair into baseball caps and then made scarves - many, many scarves, in every color of the rainbow.

Happy birthday, Mom. And thank you...for everything.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Friday, June 12, 2009

2009-06-12T19:30:00.007-04:00

More Yellow for Mums, paired with a teal tie-dye bandanna from Hobby Lobby.

Bad Hair Days and the Bald Girl

2009-06-12T14:34:00.003-04:00

Here's a question for you: Once you lose all your hair, can you still have bad hair days? Without hair, are your bad hair days over? Or are all days bad hair days? Or do we need an entirely new category: Bad Bald Days? Thoughts?

Bad Hair Days: Share Your Stories

2009-06-12T14:30:00.003-04:00

We’ve all had them, complained about them, cried over them, thrown tantrums on them, and let them affect our self-esteem.

Now let's talk about them. Share your bad hair day stories here.

Benefit of Not Having Hair #3: Rain Has No Effect on My Hairdo

2009-06-12T12:29:00.003-04:00

It's been raining a lot lately. No seriously. A loooot. It's making me crazy, actually. It makes me want to sleep in, hide indoors, surf the Internet, and eat and eat and eat and eat. But you know what it doesn't do? Mess up my hairdo. At all. Don't you wish you had no hair?

Just Another Bad Hair Day...That's how it Started

2009-06-11T17:44:00.005-04:00

Some people’s lives change in an instant. Mine changed slowly, starting with a pout, a rant, and a tantrum, on what started as just another bad hair day.

Arggggh! I picture myself slamming down the tall, slender tin of foam mousse – shitfuckgodammit I hate my hair – groaning, accidentally knocking over the Aqua Net aerosol hair spray can – Why can’t anything ever go right in my whole life?

Despite near scorching from too many presses of a hot curling iron, one side of my shoulder length, ash blonde hair stubbornly insisted on flipping under instead of feathering back.

It’s not like it was a special day. It wasn’t a date or a dance or the day we took our school photos. Not that I had a lot of dates in high school. And I hadn’t been to one dance in the three years we’d lived in Raleigh. But that didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point. It didn’t have to be a special day for me to need manageable hair that I could whip into my style of choice, which on this particular day happened to be a classic Princess Diana feathery do.

A study conducted by researchers at Yale University found that bad hair days can increase self doubt, heighten social insecurities, and cause both men and women to be more self-critical in general. So I wasn’t being unreasonable when I considered climbing back into bed, curling up in a ball, and calling it a day – all because of an errant flip.

A missed day of school? Now that was unreasonable. An absence would mean making up my calculus test after school on a later date. An absence would mean I’d have to learn torque from the physics textbook, and not from watching Mr. Prim spin around on his swiveling desk chair. Even worse: An absence would tarnish my perfect attendance record. And that just wasn’t acceptable. So, I took a deep breath and tried one more time to position, lift, and scrunch my hair into submission.

My hands were deep in my mane when my fingers suddenly brushed against a smooth patch of skin on my scalp where hair should be. That’s weird. I picked up a hand mirror and used it to view the back of my head in the vanity. As I fingered my hair with one hand and angled the hand mirror with the other, up and down, left and right, I saw it – a small, round bald spot the size of a quarter. What the hell?

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, June 11, 2009

2009-06-11T15:01:00.004-04:00

I've got a lot of brown scarves, which means I buy a lot of brown clothes. That's how it is. I'm always buying clothes to match the scarves, because the scarves are harder to come by. Sure, I have a lot of scarves, but I've been collecting for seven years. Hard to believe.

This brown scarf was made by Mom. (shock)

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, June 10, 2009

2009-06-10T22:58:00.003-04:00

This is the infamous dressy black scarf, the one that makes small children think I'm a pirate, the same one that the airline employee didn't think was good enough for first-class status. Mom made this scarf. I wear it a lot.

(Hear that Mom? It's been around and will need replacing soon. Hope you're desperately seeking more fabric.)

Does Head Shape Matter?

2009-06-10T12:02:00.008-04:00

“But you have such a nice, round head.” That’s what people say to me.

It’s a compliment, I guess, but not one I ever expected or hoped to hear. I smile and say thank you but don’t know how to compartmentalize the information. It doesn’t fit into any known categories of physical beauty: skin tone, eye color, thinness, femininity, definition of cheek bones, tightness of skin, softness of features. Having a perfectly round head is meaningless by societal standards, like having a perfectly arched armpit or a lovely knuckle. No scale exists for these features. And without a measure for the object of flattery or praise, the compliment seems meaningless, a mere comment or statement of fact.

It’s true that my head is round and mostly lump-free. But I only know that because I don’t have hair.

And it’s only a compliment because I don’t have hair.

People with hair don’t care what shape their head is. They also don’t know what shape their head is.

“You look so much better bald than I would,” they gush. Because they have peanut heads, bumpy or lumpy or scarred scalps, giant craniums with craters or knots. So they say.

Now they can find out—kind of, anyway.

For a small fee, “Ofer” offers a virtual head shaving. You submit a photo, and you get four versions of you as a baldie. It’s supposed to help you see how much better you’d look bald than patchy or half bald or dramatically thinning, so you can build the confidence you need to just shave it off already. Check it out. Even if you don't want to try it, you may want to look at those who have become imaginary baldies.

You can also see what a variety of celebs would like like if they were bald. See what you think.

Now, I have to say: Some of the celebs look better than others. It could be merely an issue of facial features. Those with the best facial features don’t need to hide under their hair; they are stunning without it. But I can’t help but wonder if Ofer gives his personal favorites better looking scalps than others.

Which brings me back to my original thought: Does head shape matter? Is being bald any easier when you have a nice, round head?

I don't think so. Either you're devastated and you don't care about your head shape, or you're okay with it, and you don't care about your head shape.

I think maybe it's something to say when people don't know what else to say.

The good news is I'm okay with my hair loss now. I embrace it. And though head shape compliments don't make me blush or glow and smile, I still like them. Because I know that the people who say it mean well.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

Forever and Ever, Amen

2009-06-09T22:18:00.003-04:00

Come on...everyone knows this one. But just in case, I figured I'd better publish the trilogy from the blog post. Introducing Randy Travis, my friends...this one is a classic.

I Am Not My Hair Video

2009-06-09T22:11:00.004-04:00

India Arie on YouTube: I Am Not My Hair with Akon, inspired by Melissa Etheridge's 2005 Grammy appearance

Daytrotter Download: The Way I Am

2009-06-09T22:06:00.004-04:00

Daytrotter has a free download of Ingrid Michaelson's The Way I Am. You have to register, though, with your email address and year of birth (of all things). Once you register, you can hit play or download. Still catchy, I must admit.

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, June 9, 2009

2009-06-09T15:48:00.003-04:00

Mom made this one out of a striking batik fabric. Love it. I used to have more matching clothes but they were worn out and went to Goodwill. Looks like shopping is on the agenda.

Take Me the Way I Am

2009-06-09T13:51:00.008-04:00

There aren’t a lot of songs about hair loss. So last summer when I heard “Rogaine” in a breathy, singsongy voice on the radio, I went on high alert. I held my breath in anticipation of learning the artist name: Ingrid Michaelson.

Immediately, “The Way I Am” became my new favorite song.

The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson

If you were falling, then I would catch you.
You need a light, I’d find a match.
Cause I love the way you say good morning.
And you take me the way I am.
If you are chilly, here take my sweater.
Your head is aching, I’ll make it better.
Cause I love the way you call me baby.
And you take me the way I am.
I’d buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.
Sew on patches to all you tear.
Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.
And you take me the way I am.

At first, I found the lyrics to “The Way I Am” sweet. You take me the way I am? Wow. We all long to find someone who will do just that – accept the good, bad and ugly in us.

The more I listened to the song, however, the more I became bothered by it.

Never mind the implication that baldness is some sort of problem with an easy fix, like a chill, or a headache, or a holey sock. Just use Rogaine, and shazam, problem solved. It’s not always that easy. There are many types of baldness, caused by different things, and treated in different ways. With my type, some people lose quarter-sized patches of hair on their scalp, while others lose all body hair. Some grow their hair back quickly, while others never get their hair back. Some people re-grow their hair with Rogaine, only to lose it again when they stop taking the treatment. I certainly tried it, years ago, before there even was a Rogaine for women. I only had a few bald spots back then, and I was desperate to have my hair back. I also tried steroid shots and an irritant cream that turned my head purple and made me want to scratch my skin off. Sometimes these treatments work on alopecia. None of them worked on me.

Then there’s the idea that balding heads are indeed a problem—something that needs to be fixed. Aren’t bald men considered sexy these days? Think Taye Diggs. Yowza! Couldn't someone facing hair loss embrace a bald head? Why should we assume that everyone automatically wants to treat hair loss?

But what really bugged me was the underlying message of acceptance paired with the “I’d buy you Rogaine” lyrics. Can you “take me the way I am” and still want to make changes? Doesn’t acceptance mean you experience something without attempting to change it?

I had to look up the definition.

From merriam-webster:
ac·cept
transitive verb
1 a: to receive willingly b: to be able or designed to take or hold (something applied or added)
2: to give admittance or approval to
3 a: to endure without protest or reaction b: to regard as proper, normal, or inevitable c: to recognize as true : believe
4 a: to make a favorable response to b: to agree to undertake (a responsibility)
5: to assume an obligation to pay ; also : to take in payment
6: to receive (a legislative report) officially

Hmmm…not exactly what I’d hoped for. The only definition with any reference to change is the third one: to endure without protest or reaction.

Is a balding head something to be endured? Maybe it is.

But maybe it doesn’t have to be. Once upon a time, bald wasn't even acceptable, much less sexy. Balding men scrambled to find just the right toupee and then prayed people wouldn't notice the rug on their head. Balding women didn't exist, at least not in the public eye. People didn't embrace their baldness. They didn't own it.

But that was before Sean Connery went bald and still managed to be sexy.

That was before Michael Jordan and many other basketball players made it cool to be bald.

That was before Melissa Etheridge performed bald at the 2005 Grammy awards.

That was before Robin Roberts ditched her wig on Good Morning America last year. And then walked the runway - bald.

As long as there are confident bald people willing to set an example, there's hope for all of us.

As for Ingrid Michaelson’s song, I still find it catchy and sweet. It’s just not my idea of true acceptance anymore.

What is? How about these:

“I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your ex-pec-tations
no no I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within”
– Singer India Arie, “I am not my hair”

“They say time takes its toll on a body
Makes a young girl’s brown hair turn gray
Well honey, I don’t care, I ain’t in love with your hair
And if it all fell out, well, I’d love you anyway.”
– Singer Randy Travis, “Forever and Ever, Amen”

What do you think? Are acceptance and change mutually exclusive?

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Monday, June 8, 2009

2009-06-08T15:42:00.003-04:00

This scarf used to be a swimsuit coverup...until Mom cut it into two pieces and made me twin scarves. This one has been in my collection since the beginning, and I still love the colors. Just wish it were a little bigger.

The photo was taken this morning, when we were still fogged in. Of course, now the sun is blazing, and the sky is blue. Figures. But at least I did get one beach photo into the mix. It's the last one; I'm leaving Margate City, NJ this afternoon.

Bye, bye beach vacation.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, June 7, 2009

2009-06-08T15:37:00.006-04:00

New: A better view of the scarf.

This is a gorgeous hand-sewn scarf, but you can't really tell because the picture is dark. I'm trying not to repeat, but I may have to wear this one again soon, just so you can see the design.

It's Just Hair...Or is it?

2009-06-07T18:03:00.006-04:00

I used to love Sundays for the extra newspaper stories, coupons, and classified ads, partnered with strong coffee, of course. I still enjoy these things. But I’ve discovered a new reason to love Sundays: That’s when the secrets are posted on PostSecret.

Created by Frank Warren, PostSecret is a group art project that involves people mailing their secrets anonymously on a homemade postcard. The only rules are that they must be true and never shared with anyone before. If you haven't checked out the website, do so. It's amazing to see what people say when they know they won't be discovered.

My biggest secret used to be that my hair was really a wig—an auburn, vacuum-seal, custom, natural hair piece made of fine European hair.

It looked real, and that was the problem. I was determined to make people think it was real. Or at least to make sure they never, ever wondered if it was real or not. Like most people with a big secret, I went to great lengths to cover it up.

Some people want to go where everybody knows their name. Me? I moved to another state where nobody knew my name, or my original hair color, or what my hair used to look like before it fell out. In this new place, people knew me as Christy with the auburn hair. They had never seen me with patchy hair, or with a comb-over hairstyle, or in wool berets. Every now and then, someone in this new place would make a joke about redheads, and it always took me a minute to remember that I was the redhead being referenced. Ah, they don’t know my secret, I’d smile to myself.

For a long time, I didn’t go to the gym because my fancy hair didn’t mix well with sweat. Imagine wearing a flimsy silicone hot pad over your head while you’re on the elliptical machine. That’s what made up the suction cap of my fancy hair piece: bendable silicone. Try it sometime. It’s not fun. Finally, Mom figured out how to sew Velcro strips of synthetic hair into breathable baseball caps: a three-inch strip of short bangs in the front, a longer strip of shoulder-length hair in the back and sides. We were careful to match the color of the synthetic hair strips to the color of my fancy hair piece. The length too. That way people wouldn’t wonder why my hair looked different in the gym than, say, the grocery store. Or in the office. Suddenly, I was able to work out again. I started running. I toned up. And if anyone noticed the difference, they didn’t say anything.

It took even longer for me to get the courage to swim. My suction hair piece was supposed to stay on in the water, but I never trusted it. The suction required a completely bald head, and I still had hair patches back then. I liked my patches – a couple at the bangs area, a couple at my ears – because they made my fake hat hair look more natural. Besides, real people swam laps in a swim cap. But I couldn’t just drive to the pool in a swim cap. I’d look ridiculous. Which meant I’d have to put the swim cap on in the women’s locker room. Finally I figured out a plan: I’d make the switch behind the shower curtain. It wasn’t easy. I was the only person taking a big duffel bag into the shower stall. But where else would I put the fancy hair piece without anyone else seeing it? I would walk into the stall wearing the fancy hair, and walk out in a blue swim cap, the fancy hair carefully tucked away in the duffel bag. After the swim, I reversed the process, removing the swim cap, then replacing the hair piece onto my nearly bald head, always behind the curtain. I would even dab a little water on my wig and wrap my head in a towel before departing the shower stall. One time a friend asked, "How does your hair always dry so quickly?" I smiled. She didn’t know.

Keeping my big secret took a lot out of me. Not just energy, or time, but opportunity, too. To trust. To set an example. To educate. To increase awareness.

It’s like the movie, Milk. Great movie. What did Harvey Milk say? Something like, if they know one of us, they will vote for us. I can't recall it verbatim. But the idea was that people didn't even realize that they knew gay people, because so many gay people were afraid to come out.

Okay, so it's not exactly the same. But so many alopecians hide their baldness. They don't share their secret.

I am finally ready to unleash my secret hair confessions, both from my days with and without hair:

I cried when I got my first perm because I didn’t like the way my hair turned out. It was too curly. (Wasn't that the idea?)

I lied when I said the sun naturally turned my orange, yellow, and then a platinum color only seen on strippers. It wasn’t the sun; it was Sun-In. I have no idea why.

I spent way too much time wishing my hair was something it wasn’t: curlier, blonder, fuller, thicker, shinier.

I cried myself to sleep every night for months when my hair first started falling out.

I felt guilty for crying over my hair. It wasn’t like I had lost a limb or anything.

I felt guilty for wanting a cure for alopecia. It wasn’t fatal.

Is it just hair? We like to think so. But until we can truly open up about the topic, until we can confess how much time and money we spend on our hair, how strongly we react when our hair doesn't turn out the way we want, how negatively a bad hair day can affect our self-esteem, how important the right hair color, length, and style is to our identity and our sexuality...until we can admit all that and more, how are we supposed to have a fair discussion about baldness in women? How will we accept it, perhaps even embrace it?

What do you think?

pañuelo of the day: Saturday, June 6, 2009

2009-06-07T18:00:00.005-04:00

Another Hobby Lobby bandanna/scarf. Nice and colorful, for Corri, who said I was dressing in too many drab colors lately.

pañuelo of the day: Friday, June 5, 2009

2009-06-07T17:58:00.004-04:00

The teal scarf: another hand sewn by Mom. Love the color, but it sure would look better against a turquoise sea background. Unfortunately, the weather at the Jersey shore has not been cooperating.

Benefit of Not Having Hair #2: Who Needs Shampoo?

2009-06-05T10:53:00.003-04:00

I love the scents, but I don't need shampoo. And when I do use it, for my three hairs, I don't need a lot of it. So a travel size bottle lasts a year. Talk about cost savings!

pañuelo of the day: Thursday, June 4, 2009

2009-06-04T14:27:00.004-04:00

This lightweight cotton scarf was made by ECHO.

pañuelo of the day: Wednesday, June 3, 2009

2009-06-04T14:24:00.003-04:00

This is my nike scarf. It's stretchy. It's coolmax. It's got the swish. I love it - great for exercise, heat, and hot tubs.

What Does My Hair Say About Me? Apparently, That I'm a Pirate

2009-06-04T10:41:00.021-04:00

Growing up, my hair said I was a follower. I had a short Twiggy shag and a Farrah Fawcett feathery flip, Madonna's teased hair and a Molly Ringwald poodle perm bob - always well after the trend had caught on.

The pattern stops at The Rachel, the bouncy, long, layered hairstyle introduced and popularized by Jennifer Aniston in the first season of Friends. That was the year I transitioned from late majority follower to trendsetter. I use the term loosely, because I was not setting trends that generated followers: the oddly placed barrette, the female combover, the office beret, the synthetic strip of bangs velcroed to a baseball cap.

Let's be clear: I did not want to separate myself from the crowd. I was dragged away kicking and screaming. For some of us, that's the only way to cross the chasm from one way of thinking to another.

If my hair hadn't fallen out, I probably wouldn't have adopted a style of my own, especially one that sends such mixed messages. Today, I am Pañuelo Girl, the girl who wears scarves. It means different things to different people, and I'm okay with that.

Sean said he thought I was a motorcycle chick.

Jane said she thought I was stylish.

Every now and then a guy - usually an African American - thinks I am a hip hop girl.

Of course, there are those who think I have cancer.

Kids have their own ideas about scarves. One day I was working the volunteer registration booth for a trail cleanup project, when a four-year-old boy approached me, cocked his head to the left, and asked, "Are you a pirate?"

"Why, yes, how did you know?" I laughed.

"Because of that thing on your head!" He was talking about my black scarf, tied do-rag style, with a double knot at the back of my head, long tails hanging down my back. He grinned and turned to the man behind him. "She’s a real pirate, grandpa!"

I had to smile.

People will always apply their own perspective to what they see, but that doesn't change who or what I am.

What does my "hairdo" say about me? It says I'm comfortable with myself, that I don't mind standing out in a crowd, that I embrace my individuality. It says I'm more than my hair.

What does your hair say about you?

Read this Oprah magazine story to find out what other women are saying about their hair.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Tuesday, June 2, 2009

2009-06-02T09:47:00.004-04:00

I ain't afraid of no tank top.

This scarf has been around for years; it's Forenza. Remember Forenza? We don't throw anything away in our family, so good ole' Mom was able to produce this from a carefully labeled box to help me build my scarf collection.

Circa 1985?!?!?

Enough already!

2009-06-02T08:07:00.005-04:00

As summer rapidly approaches, and the tank tops and shorts and bathing suits march to the front of the closet, I can’t help but think about skin. About showing skin. About showing unsightly skin.

Suddenly I wish I had been more serious about that diet I started back in January. I wish I had joined a gym, hired a trainer, built an exercise habit. Something. Then maybe I wouldn’t be anticipating the summer season with such dread.

True, I’d like to be trimmer, and fitter, and healthier. I would. But this isn’t another article on how to get into bikini shape in 10 days. Or how to cleanse yourself into a size extra small. Please. (Though you know I’ve considered it.)

No, that’s not it at all. For those of us who didn’t shrink or tighten or tone as much as we wanted, the question becomes: Cover it up or bare it?

Certainly you’ve heard the commentaries. A deejay asserts that women over 35 and over 120 pounds should NOT wear a bikini, under no uncertain terms. A family member tells you it’s time to retire the tank tops until you can reduce the flap factor on your arms. A friend asks if she’s too fat for shorts.

With all this talk about what people should and shouldn’t wear as the temperatures rise, I can’t help but wonder, do we owe it to other people to cover up our unsightly skin?

And who gets to determine what is—and is not—unsightly?

I’m not just talking about fatty cells and cellulite, but also hairless heads.

One time an airline employee told me I couldn’t wear a scarf in first class. I was flying standby, on a buddy pass, and was required to follow a dress code. No jeans. No open-toed shoes. No t-shirt material. No spandex. Check, check, check, and check. Apparently Mr. Snooty Pants thought a headscarf didn’t fit the rules, didn’t look upscale enough for his taste. Nowhere on the list of rules did it say No headscarf. I wish I had whipped the scarf off my bald head and quipped, “Better?” Unfortunately, I wasn’t as strong then as I am now. My eyes watered. I could barely speak. I told him I had a medical condition and he still downgraded me to coach.

From my alopecia support group, I heard about a stewardess who was required to wear a wig on the plane when her hair fell out. Another girl was required to wear a wig at the reception counter at a gym. Seeing a bald headed woman, they were told, would make customers uncomfortable. The airline stewardess bought a wig. The bald gym receptionist quit.

How are we supposed to increase awareness about alopecia and hair loss in women if we are always covering it up?

Sure, there will always be a need for dress codes. No shirt, no shoes, no service at a restaurant. No midriff showing in the office. No Borat mankinis at the neighborhood swimming pool.

But it’s time to ask ourselves: Why is it that thigh dimples and dangling arm fat and hairless heads make us so uncomfortable?

So enough already! I’m heading to the shore today and I am packing tank tops, shorts, and a bathing suit. I might even bare my naked head. If you find any of it unsightly, then by all means, don’t look. But please, keep your mouth shut.

© 2009 Christy Bailey

pañuelo of the day: Monday, June 1, 2009

2009-06-01T21:49:00.004-04:00

This one is by ExOfficio. It's unisex, and it repels insects. Very cool. But don't overuse it - after 50 washes, the Buzz Off insect shield wears off.

pañuelo of the day: Sunday, May 31, 2009

2009-05-31T22:43:00.008-04:00

This is one of my favorite scarves ever, from Hobby Lobby, an arts and crafts store. The company used to have a better selection, but they've cut back over the years. Still, if you're desperate for a headscarf pronto, it's definitely worth a look. Best of all? The price: about a buck each.

The Difference Between Women and Men

2009-05-31T13:37:00.004-04:00

This cartoon says it all.

For credits, and more funny stuff, go to carcino.gen.nz

Is beauty in the eye of the beholder?

2009-05-31T12:12:00.005-04:00

"Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street bald and still think they are beautiful!" – Stephanie Hawkins*

For a bald girl, I am about as Out There as I can get without going bare. I wear scarves to weddings, dates, work, and job interviews – basically, everywhere. I talk comfortably about my alopecia with anyone who asks, and even those who don’t. And now I’m writing about it. In a public blog. Under my real name. (Honestly, I debated that, but opted for transparency.)

And yet.

I avoid mirrors, especially when my head is bare, like when I first step out of the shower.

After a shower, I still wrap my head in a towel.

Once I’m dry, the first thing I put on is my pañuelo.

Even when I’m alone, I wear a fleece hat to sleep, and not just because it warms my head.

I can count on one hand the people who’ve seen my naked head – two hands if you include doctors, wig store owners, and an arrogant photographer.

The other day, I am waiting at a bus stop in The District, wearing my gray pinstriped pantsuit, when an African American man in an oversized t-shirt, baggy jeans, and a New York baseball cap approaches me.

“You are lookin’ fine today,” says New York. “For a white girl.”

I look behind me, side to side, but see noone. Is he talking to me?

“Jenny Craig be workin’ on you.” His t-shirt hangs to the middle of his thigh. He’s probably a large, but the shirt is at least a triple extra large.

He must be homeless, I think. “I need Jenny Craig,” I say, emphasizing the word need.

“You look like that naturally? Ooh, girl.” He reeks of alcohol.

Ah, he’s drunk. I smile politely. “Thanks, I guess.”

“When I see something I like, I jus’ say it. And I gotta say, you look good.”

I look behind me, side to side, and see a young woman leaning against the storefront, her arms folded against her chest. She is watching us. I roll my eyes in her direction.

He is from New York, he says, tugging on the bill of his cap.

I nod.

He admits to having had a few too many drinks, but he’s in the midst of a divorce, and he’s drowning his sorrows. He doesn’t use these words, but that is the gist.

I look off to the distance as he’s talking, shift my weight from one foot to the other.

Finally, he gets the hint. “You have a great day,” he calls from the intersection, turning back for one last look.

Here’s the thing: My first reaction was to label him as crazy, an alcoholic, some sort of derelict. No man in his right mind would hit on a bald girl. Normal men don’t even notice bald girls.

I did not think, “I’ve still got it!” And I certainly didn't think, "I sure am beautiful."

The truth is, I struggle with my image. I truly believe that bald can be beautiful, but on other people. I don’t consider myself beautiful. When people say I’m beautiful, I don’t believe they mean it.

I am not alone. And this is not unique to bald women (though it very well may be magnified).

According to The Real Truth about Beauty Study, commissioned by Dove in 2004, more women are dissatisfied with their beauty than any other area of their lives, with the exception of financial success. Approximately $230 billion is spent each year by people around the world on products designed to make them feel more beautiful, yet a mere two percent of surveyed women described themselves as such.

As a child, I felt beautiful. I must have. Everyone around me said I was beautiful, and I believed them.

At what point, I wonder, did I stop believing? Was it when they stopped saying it?

Can you feel beautiful if nobody ever says you’re beautiful? If only your mom says it, or your grandma, or your spouse? Is it merely the sum of a lifetime of affirmations?

Is beauty a state of mind or a physical attribute, a weight, a shape, a hair length or color or fullness, the size of a lip pout, the upturn of a nose?

Is beauty defined by others, based on a narrow description created by a society of people, most of whom don’t even meet the strict criteria?

Does the criteria, by definition, need to be strict? If we all described ourselves as beautiful, if we all truly felt beautiful, would it dilute the meaning? If we all were beautiful, wouldn't beautiful be the new average?

I hope we get to find out.

And I hope I live to see a day where bald women walking down the street really do feel beautiful.

Check out the Dove Campaign and the research behind it.

* excerpt taken from "from WOMEN" by Stephanie Hawkins, published in Deluxe Rubber Chicken, a Web-based journal of poetry published from Cheektowaga, NY.

© 2009 Christy Bailey