For the past five years or so, until recently, I maintained a semi-drastic super-styley short haircut. I got lots of compliments on it, especially in bars and clubs, and I knew that people referred to me as �the girl with the haircut.� It was, on a good day, pretty fucking cute. It was the kind of haircut older women told me was �interesting� in a tone of voice that meant �ridiculous.� A man once chased me down the street for two blocks, scaring the hell out of me, only to catch up with me in a crosswalk, tell me he liked my haircut, and walk away. The haircut pained my mother, and it pained me that she allowed such a thing to pain her. My hairdresser loved it and we�d both feel pretty satisfied with ourselves when I went in to get it touched up.

Anyway, I�m growing it out. My hair is pretty generic right now. When I made the decision to grow my hair out, I wasn�t aware that it was related to other changes I was making in my life, such as quitting drinking, but now it seems clear that it was. The same questions hover around the haircut decision as around the other decisions. Most importantly, am I becoming more real, or am I disappearing?

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