On the trials and tribulations of mad hair.

I was inspired last night to write about hair, not just my hair but hair in general. This was prompted by a man asking me a very odd question whilst I waited in line at the bar. He turned to me, pointed to my head and said "How much did that cost?" I replied and he turned right back around. I'm assuming he might have thought my hair was a wig, or that I have a very expensive hairdresser. I can see why he was interested as my hair is turquoise, blue and a couple of shades of purple/pink. I can understand why people stare; I am less understanding when they reach out and touch it without asking first.

Unfortunately it's the hair of white people which is often revered. Apparently straight, blonde hair is what we should all aspire to have, an idea I absolutely abhor. I have Jewish heritage so my hair is naturally very curly, thick and quite coarse. I was ashamed of my hair for so long as it was so different from most Swedish people. It took me many years and much research into hair oils to finally learn to love my hair.

Hair is such a personal thing, not just for women either. I have a favourite hair cut on men which I think often makes them much more attractive. I always notice other people’s hair, especially if they've done something interesting. I love the different textures of hair, I love the way it feels and if properly cared for the way it smells. People identify with other groups based on just a haircut and they can vary immensely depending on where you come from. I say do what you want with your hair, it's yours, play with it, or don't, it's up to you.

But seriously though, don't fucking touch my hair without asking.