NYC-Feature Story

My Life as a Long Hair

By Angel

“Get that hair out of your face!” my father demanded. “You’re going to get hair on your plate and eat it. Are you a cat?”

It was dinnertime and yet again my father was commenting on my long hair clinging to my shoulders. His left eyebrow perched up high and his bulging eyes demanded an answer.


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“Don’t worry, I have plenty of milk to wash it down,” I answered.

Whenever my father made a comment about my long hair, I’d answer back wittily, always joking around but never being disrespectful. Then he’d tell me to get a haircut and would call me “Cousin It”—a reference to an Addams Family character whose long hair covered him entirely.

This was how we communicated with one another when it came to my hair. No matter how sour his words sounded, I never got offended. I laughed them off to show him that his teasing never made me think of cutting my hair.

And as it turned out, if I had cut my hair, I wouldn’t be able to share the bond that I now have with certain people, my dad included. Having long hair has had great significance for me, creating change in my life in big and small ways.

I was 15 when I was inspired by my musical hero Steve Vai, a guitar virtuoso, to grow my hair. His flawless guitar playing made his long, dark, wavy hair seem so fascinating. I’d started learning how to play guitar, and I thought that growing my hair would symbolize how much I’d progressed as a guitar player. It would also be a tribute to my idol for inspiring me to play. Plus, I wanted my hair to help me connect with musicians and others with the same interests as me. I wanted people to be able to identify me as a musician just by looking at my hair.

My mother owns a hair salon, and she noticed my hair as it grew longer. She liked my hair because it was straight, though from time to time, she insisted on trimming it. When my mother’s customers would arrive at her salon, they’d compliment my hair and say, “Hopefully your mother can work the same miracle on my head as she did on yours.”

Unexpected Experiences

My hair helped my mother and me form a new connection. As she trimmed my hair, she’d tell me about people in our family—how my grandmother had been doing in the hospital, or how my penniless uncle had somehow bought a new truck.

I never would have guessed that the beauty salon would be where we’d make up for time lost when my mother was busy at work or I was out with my friends. My salon conversations with my mother helped me appreciate my family, which I used to take for granted.

It’s true that I’ve faced some odd obstacles having long hair. For those who don’t know, brick walls are a treacherous force against long hair. Leaning on them causes your hair to stick to the bricks’ rough surface, painfully pulling it out.

And I used to believe that colored hair scrunchies were for girls, so I only carried black ones. Today I no longer choose a hair scrunchie of a specific color or even care what others think, just as long as I can keep my hair away from the gusts of wind that could blow it into my mouth and suffocate me.

One of the strangest moments occurred on an evening when I walked my girlfriend home, at first ignoring the whistling behind us. I assumed it was men whistling for the attention of one of their friends. But when I eventually turned around, a look of embarrassment appeared on their faces and I realized that they’d mistaken me for a woman.

My Dad and I Started Talking

But the obstacle that mattered to me most was my father’s teasing about my long hair. About two years ago, I finally decided to start ignoring his comments instead of going along with the joke. I really wanted him to understand my choice, so I changed my tactics and hoped that if I refused to joke around with him, he would get bored and stop. I made it obvious that I was sticking to my decision. When he commented on my hair, I refused to engage with him anymore.

Suddenly, the bond that we’d shared when we argued playfully no longer existed, and I guess he didn’t want to lose our bond because of hair.

After that, he decided to connect with me differently by starting genuine conversations. He stopped nagging me to cut my hair and started talking to me about random subjects like music and movies.

A Precious Being

I’m glad I ignored my dad’s comments. If I had taken his pleas to cut my hair into consideration, I probably would have missed out on the best time of my life—when I met my girlfriend on June 10, 2006.

“What shampoo do you use?” was the first question she ever asked me. “I use dirt and mud water,” I answered. She smiled and then laughed.

In that moment, I realized that my hair had lured a precious being into my life. In what seemed like an endless phone conversation going on past midnight, she told me that she was first attracted to me because of my hair. To know my hair allowed me to talk with the most graceful person I had ever met made me feel proud and grateful that I hadn’t cut my hair.

Spreading Positive Change

Having long hair has mostly been a good thing. So good, in fact, that I’m considering cutting a lot of it off. That’s because I want to give the experience of having long hair to someone else. This is an idea that has been in the back of my head since I started to grow my hair.

By donating my hair to an organization that makes wigs for sick people who have lost their hair, I could make a positive change in a person’s life. To know my hair could help someone is definitely worth cutting years of it off. I can always continue to grow it. As weird as my motive sounds, I want to share the experience of being “a long hair.”

Long hair has helped me connect with new people and find friends in those who view their hair as a way to distinguish themselves among all others. And it’s allowed me to connect with my parents in new ways. Today, when I feel my hair on my back, I’m reminded that it has been with me through physical and emotional changes. My long hair has helped me get to know myself better, one of the most important journeys in life.