I Don’t Whip My Hair Back and Forth–But I Could!

(c) 2013 Trina Lambert

When I was a young 20-something in the 80s, I worked with a couple older women—who were younger than I am now! However, they represented two different generations. One was 44—and graduated in the same year Peggy Sue did (in Peggy Sue Got Married), meaning she was born early during World War II and, thus, a member of the Silent Generation. The other was 36 and very much a post-war Baby Boomer.

Those two women couldn’t have been more different. The older woman was a conservative Christian who would rather have been home than at work, although her kids were mostly grown. The younger woman had come of age in southern California during the late 60s and had lived—and was still living—a chaotic life. Truth is, I enjoyed time with both women but for very different reasons. Even though I was the young one, eventually I found I had more in common with the older woman than the younger woman who I finally realized was never going to grow up. What had first appeared hip and exciting turned out to be out-of-control and totally lacking in grounded values. Yes, partying until 5:00 a.m. every weekend night may lead to a lot a sick days by the time you are 36.

The older woman seemed to feel it was her duty to act and look her age and that the younger woman was fooling herself by trying to pretend she was still young. And while I agree that she needed to act much more like her age responsibility-wise, I don’t think her looks were the problem. It’s not as if she ran around squeezed too tightly into too-short clothes. No, the older woman seriously thought “older” women should not have longer hair. And by longer hair, I mean hair that went a few inches past her shoulders.

Really? For the life of me, I can’t even figure out what the crime is in wearing your hair longer after 35—maybe that was a Silent Generation thought—after all I am, just barely, a (rebellious?) Baby Boomer. Since I’m way past 35 or 42 and still have longer hair, obviously I’m not abiding by those rules. Doesn’t it really matter how my hairstyle looks on me, not how old I am? (Shh—I’ll even wear white after Labor Day if the weather merits it! Rebel against arbitrary rules, I say.)

For awhile, I went to a hairdresser who, I swear, was trying to make me look old and fat. Despite telling her I wanted my hair longer (my round face isn’t flattered by short hair), she kept cutting it short—until I stopped going to see her. I think she must have believed in the “no long hair after 35” rule—for me, anyway.

This winter I achieved a new milestone—not only can I put my hair into a ponytail, but also I can put the ponytail high on my head and really keep the hair off my neck. That works so well for me because I spend a lot of time exercising: doing yoga, running, ZUMBA dancing, skiing, hiking, etc. And when I exercise, I sweat—not because I am an “old” woman but because I work out hard.

Quite frankly, I’m not going to let anyone tell me I’m too old to exercise, wear my hair long, or whatever if I still can. I didn’t need someone else telling me that staying out until 5:00 a.m. was a bad long term plan—I learned that on my own without first having to get fired for absenteeism. Age slows us down more than we’d like it to in the first place—why let someone else decide for us when we should slow down if it really doesn’t harm ourselves or other people, one way or another?

If wearing long hair makes me a rebel who won’t act her age, then so be it. How about I just keep the ponytail but stay away from wearing spandex shorts and cropped tops and singing “I Whip My Hair Back and Forth”? Deal? I thought so . . .