Sometimes I really can’t stand the human race.

I moved to a very small town right before I began high school and right as I was starting to “find myself” – or right as I was looking around really hard in an attempt to figure out where I already was, anyway. I’d always gravitated to the goth aesthetic, and started dressing that way, since I was no longer going to parochial school and had that option.

I loved my clothes, and I bought everything with my own money that I worked hard for, taking great care with choosing pieces to spend my money on – lots of velvet, big stompy boots, retro heels, satin slippers, tights with fun colors and patterns (my favorite was a black pair speckled with beautiful cobalt blue butterflies), etc.

Unfortunately, that was intolerable to everyone around me, including school faculty, so I know how the lovely girl with the asshat for a teacher feels.

Being mocked by my “peers” was one thing – kids are cruel, and I could accept that, even though it was annoying (and sometimes physically painful, as I was attacked a number of times by other students, mainly the “jock” boys), but having to put up with it from people that were supposed to be authority figures and good role models was appalling.

Once, when a boy in my English class felt the need to hold forth for about 15 minutes on my freakish nature and innate worthlessness (only with less big words), the teacher stood by and not only listened without stopping it, but joined in to point out that if I would only just quit insisting on being so different, people might actually like me, or at least quit actively disliking me.

I was constantly being dragged into the principal’s office or made to go home for dress code violations, even though I always made sure that my clothing conformed to it in all ways (no sleeveless tops, skirts that reached past my fingertips, etc).

Then Columbine happened and it got even worse.

The harassment from other students changed radically – some kids got even worse/louder/more physical, while others took to flattening themselves back against walls when I’d walk down the hall, as if I were some kind of dangerous animal that might go berzerk at any time and start playing Duck Duck Goose with a chainsaw.

I even had a teacher’s aide (she actually liked me, haha) take me aside to warn me that a faculty meeting had been called to discuss me specifically – apparently, it was the opinion of many of the staff that if a Columbine were to ever happen at our school, I’d be the one responsible for it, so they’d better keep a closer watch on me.

And all that just because I liked to wear black and read books.

It’s about 10 years later now, and my personal style has fallen by the wayside. Single motherhood of two kids and life in general effectively squashed it – but I’ve recently vowed to get it back.

I want to dress myself beautifully like I used to. I want to be able to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and be happy with what I see again. And if I get weird looks for it or harassed again, I don’t give a damn. They can all go hang.

In fact, a huge shipment of new makeup just arrived, as did the most fabulous pair of red and black snake print skinny pants that I ordered on a whim, and I am going to glam it up right while I let my boyfriend take my fine rock star ass out to a Tori Amos concert next month.

So suck on that, close-minded turnips of years past. I’m setting phasers to FABULOUS. ;-)

My problem though is my hair. I have very long, natural blond hair. I stand at 5’4 to 5’5 and my hair reaches the backs of knees.

More often than not I get compliments on my hair, but I also get alot of stares (which makes me uncomfortable), I’ve had quite a few woman, both close to my age and older (I’m 26) tell me that I should cut it short. One woman off-handedly commented that she’d cut my hair if she could. -These comments have repeatedly angered me, especially since I never asked their opinions.

I’ve had alot of men, generally African American and Latino, compliment me ALOT on my hair. But I one older black man took advantage. He was complimenting me on my hair while running his hand down the length. But then he copped a feel on my butt in the process. Scared me and I felt defiled. I didn’t know what to do or say so I walked away, told my girl-friends about it, and we avoided him ’till we left the store.

A couple of years ago I was at a Renaissance Festival, dressed in my Faire garb as a wench, and I had my hair down. Some young women decided to be stupid. In passing one of them commented to another girl, “How does she use the toilet and now shit on her hair?” But it was said with a really nasty tone.
- I didn’t personally hear it, a friend of mine did and told me about it moments later. I never got the chance to retort back, but it pissed me off.

I regularly have older women coming up and touching my hair, running their hands down/through it, etc.
-Doesn’t sound like a bad thing, but it’s quite uncomfortable at times. I don’t want to be rude to these kindly old women, but I also don’t want complete strangers running their ‘possibly’ dirty hands through my hair.

I get stopped quite often and asked the same inane questions about my hair all the time. I’ve recently started being asked ‘why’ I have my hair so long.

It’s not a religious thing or anything to do with beliefs or customs. I ‘like’ my hair this long. I think it’s beautiful, I like the feel of it, and it makes me a little different from everyone else. I feel that it’s an extension of my personality, honestly.
And I like the compliments I get because of it.

But overall, the majority of the comments and attention I get because of my long hair, makes me quite uncomfortable. I’m a quite and shy person. My fiance and I stick to ourselves, for the most part.
The attention and my feelings toward it will not induce me to cut my hair short though. I think I would be really upset with myself if I ever cut my hair short and it wouldn’t grow back.:(

Perhaps not the same kind of harassment and discrimination, but to me, it’s become a bit of the two as I do get singled out…for better or worse.