Well, you wanted to know why I cared so much about your haircut.
The haircut.
If I were judging it as your friend -- even your best friend -- I would be completely happy for you and even go as far enough to say that I like it short. But as your girlfriend, while I am proud of you for going out and doing something you've wanted to do for so long and I support your decision to finally do it, I can't even stand the thought of looking at it.
I'm sorry, but I can't.
And to explain why, I'm going to tell you the story of how I first became interested in you in a way I'm not quite sure you've ever heard it before.
When I met you, even before I met you and just looked at your facebook profile, I saw that you were different. You weren't feminine by any means, but you certainly weren't what I'd consider "butch," either. You were somewhere comfortably in-between. Your body was far from masculine and any androgyny in your face was instantly softened by your long hair, even if it always was tied back in a ponytail.
You didn't look like you were trying to be anyone you weren't. You weren't so girly to the point where people would question your real sexuality, and you weren't even masculine enough that passing you on the street would evoke the big L word in my mind.
You just seemed like the average tomboy to me, but with a flair for poetry that made me so excited for the day I'd finally get up the guts to talk to you.
The first day I ever looked at your myspace profile, I remember seeing one particular sentence that sparked images in my head of having someone I could finally relate to again.
"I am always looking for someone to write/record/'jam'/collaborate with."
I'm not going to lie; in that moment, I smiled. I wouldn't need Kate or Rachel or Jim Wallace or anyone that had walked all over me throughout the spring semester anymore. While all of Kate's friends (who consequently through our roommateship had become my friends too) were great and fun to be around, I could never connect with them on an artistic level like I had with so many of my most cherished friends from back home. This girl would probably get along with Carly, the other girl whose profile I had looked at, and I could finally have friends that I felt really understood me. Plus, this Lauren girl is an out lesbian! I mean, how cool is that?
(...So I went to your room, and read your diaaaa-reeeeeeee-heeee. Sorry, I had to.)
You pretty much know the story from here. I thought you were so much cooler than me, so much more mature, so much more "chill." I never even use the word "chill," but something about you just screamed it. Honestly, I think it all goes back to that one sentence.
It fucked with my head so badly when I admitted to myself how magnetically attracted to you I seemed to be. I think it took me a whole four or five solid days to finally figure out it was a crush. And boy, was it a big one.
I don't think the kiss, let alone this relationship, would have happened if you were a "femme," and I definitely don't think it would have happened if you were "butch." There was a whole lesbian spectrum out there I had never thought about before, and before I even got the chance to really analyze how I felt about it, you kissed me.
...And it wasn't as weird as I thought it would be, because you weren't a feminine lesbian and you weren't a masculine lesbian. You were just Lauren, my next door neighbor, and falling in love with you came so naturally to me.
Ever since we have been together, I have been struggling with my sexuality. And while I know I don't have to define it, there is still a certain comfort level I'd like to one day achieve so I can have a better understanding of myself. Through countless hours of self-analyzing and getting nowhere, I would usually just give up and tell myself to just go with the flow. As long as it felt right, I was willing to just accept it.
I was always just a straight girl, but around when I started college, I began to consider if I could ever work up enough courage to step out of my comfort level and kiss a girl. Yeah, I'd had a few "straight girl crushes" in my life, but I knew there was no desire for intimacy underneath. It was just one of those things. It was completely different from any crush I'd ever had on a guy.
But that was until I met you.
For months I have tried to picture myself with guys. Nothing. Did I somehow magically become a lesbian, practically overnight? No, I don't think that could just happen like that. Besides, I can't be gay if I used to like the opposite sex as much as I did. I guess, by default, that makes me bisexual. So I can picture myself with a girl, right? No, I can't really do that either. So what the hell does that make me? Asexual with the exception of Lauren Hooghuis?
Every time I would try to figure myself out, I would go through this exact pattern of deductive reasoning. "If I'm not this, then maybe I'm this, but I'm not that either" was all I've been telling myself for months. Eventually I would just give up and conclude that the reason I couldn't figure any of it out was because I was too in love with Lauren to be able to even fathom intimacy with anyone else. I just couldn't.
And it was okay, because I knew how I felt about you and it was enough for me. If I could spend the rest of my life being happy with you, I would be content playing the "I don't know" card anytime someone asked. Because I really didn't.
And I still don't.
After over a month of not seeing you this summer, I started to get really nervous. Was the even further distance going to be too much for us to handle? Were you going to lose interest? Was I?
...Was I going to somehow turn back into a heterosexual over the summer and ruin everything good we had going for us?
As we got closer to two months, I got even more insecure about it. Going for a month at a time without seeing you throughout the spring semester was hard enough on me, and each time I was afraid I would somehow lose feelings for you. I never did, but I never ruled out that it wouldn't happen, either. It was the typical fear of any long distance relationship, but with the unfortunate added bonus of my still-lingering uncomfortableness with my sexuality.
Then out of the blue, on Sunday, June 22nd, you told me you were cutting all your hair off.
At first, I was selfish about it. You knew how much I loved your hair long, and I was too ashamed to tell you I didn't want you to do it. So I acted quiet and I didn't say anything, though I knew you'd get the hint that I wasn't exactly thrilled.
I tried to find it in me to tell you I supported you, but I couldn't exactly do that, either. I knew it was a big deal to you, and I was disappointed in myself that I couldn't tell you how proud of you I was for finally doing something you've never been able to do.
I searched online for a familiar face because I desperately needed advice. Eventually, I settled on Eric because no one else was online. He helped a little to get the proverbial ball rolling, and told me that if I told you not to, we'd both be miserable. Even if I told you to do it and you knew how much I didn't want you to anyway, we'd both still be just as miserable. The only option was to let you get it out of your system and hopefully move on with our lives.
I still didn't feel any better.
Just then, my advice-giving angel made himself electronically known. I talked to Russell for three or four hours regarding my predicament, and he really helped me take a step back and realize what my actual fears were. After talking to him, I laid in bed for a few hours and thought long and hard about it.
So why was I getting so upset over a haircut?
It wasn't that you were going to have shorter hair and I preferred it long. It was the fact that because of cutting your hair short, you were losing that one last feminine part of you that I so desperately hung onto. You weren't going to be "Just Tomboy Lauren" anymore when I looked at you; you were going to look like a butch lesbian, which I knew from looking at dozens of girls that I didn't find attractive.
And that was only the beginning.
Was I being completely shallow in my fear of no longer finding you physically attractive? No, I finally decided. Because this is something much deeper than that. This was not just fucking with your physical appearance; it was fucking with my sexuality, too.
Any progress I had made since the beginning of our relationship was completely destroyed. The idea of looking at you and not seeing "Just Lauren" anymore absolutely killed me, but I couldn't help it. You with a fauxhawk just wouldn't be Lauren.
Or would it? Had I fallen in love with the tomboy next door who was never really a tomboy deep down to begin with? Was she always just butch in disguise?
Where does this leave me?
I'm not going to even be able to kiss her, I thought. Every time I look in her direction, if I can even bear to do so, I'm going to start crying. Where was my Lauren? I'm never going to be able to be intimate with her if I feel like this. Even if I don't get my period this weekend, I'm going to tell her I have it because I don't have the heart to tell her the real reason why I don't want to touch her or let her touch me. Every time I thought about all of this, I bawled my eyes out. We had been through so much in eight months, especially in the first few, and now a haircut was going to break us up?
...Was this really happening?
But I couldn't stop you. I knew you had your heart set on getting this done, and I couldn't do anything about it. If our relationship could withstand something like this, then it could withstand anything. And if in the end, I couldn't overcome my struggle with being the femme half of a stereotypical femme/butch lesbian couple, then I shouldn't be dating you. This was something I absolutely had to do.
But if this haircut was going to kill what we had together, I at least wanted to be there for the end. After not seeing you for two whole months, I wanted to see you and kiss you and hold you and lay in bed naked with you and just take you in one last time before you cut it all off. I wanted to watch it happen, even though I knew I would bawl my eyes out the entire time. This was something we needed to do together, because as much as a huge step it was for you, it was just as big a step, in my mind, for me. I knew you'd be there for me, and I wanted to be there for you.
But you wouldn't let me.
Then you called me Monday, I begged and pleaded, but as usual, I got nowhere. And you still cut your hair on Wednesday, just like I knew you would, and I still felt a little betrayed, as usual. And you know what happened after that.
That should bring us up to the present. As for the ending? I couldn't tell you. Because I have no fucking idea what's going to happen.
I can only cross my fingers and hope that we can survive this.
Can we survive this?
If I were judging it as your friend -- even your best friend -- I would be completely happy for you and even go as far enough to say that I like it short. But as your girlfriend, while I am proud of you for going out and doing something you've wanted to do for so long and I support your decision to finally do it, I can't even stand the thought of looking at it.
I'm sorry, but I can't.
And to explain why, I'm going to tell you the story of how I first became interested in you in a way I'm not quite sure you've ever heard it before.
When I met you, even before I met you and just looked at your facebook profile, I saw that you were different. You weren't feminine by any means, but you certainly weren't what I'd consider "butch," either. You were somewhere comfortably in-between. Your body was far from masculine and any androgyny in your face was instantly softened by your long hair, even if it always was tied back in a ponytail.
You didn't look like you were trying to be anyone you weren't. You weren't so girly to the point where people would question your real sexuality, and you weren't even masculine enough that passing you on the street would evoke the big L word in my mind.
You just seemed like the average tomboy to me, but with a flair for poetry that made me so excited for the day I'd finally get up the guts to talk to you.
The first day I ever looked at your myspace profile, I remember seeing one particular sentence that sparked images in my head of having someone I could finally relate to again.
"I am always looking for someone to write/record/'jam'/collaborate with."
I'm not going to lie; in that moment, I smiled. I wouldn't need Kate or Rachel or Jim Wallace or anyone that had walked all over me throughout the spring semester anymore. While all of Kate's friends (who consequently through our roommateship had become my friends too) were great and fun to be around, I could never connect with them on an artistic level like I had with so many of my most cherished friends from back home. This girl would probably get along with Carly, the other girl whose profile I had looked at, and I could finally have friends that I felt really understood me. Plus, this Lauren girl is an out lesbian! I mean, how cool is that?
(...So I went to your room, and read your diaaaa-reeeeeeee-heeee. Sorry, I had to.)
You pretty much know the story from here. I thought you were so much cooler than me, so much more mature, so much more "chill." I never even use the word "chill," but something about you just screamed it. Honestly, I think it all goes back to that one sentence.
It fucked with my head so badly when I admitted to myself how magnetically attracted to you I seemed to be. I think it took me a whole four or five solid days to finally figure out it was a crush. And boy, was it a big one.
I don't think the kiss, let alone this relationship, would have happened if you were a "femme," and I definitely don't think it would have happened if you were "butch." There was a whole lesbian spectrum out there I had never thought about before, and before I even got the chance to really analyze how I felt about it, you kissed me.
...And it wasn't as weird as I thought it would be, because you weren't a feminine lesbian and you weren't a masculine lesbian. You were just Lauren, my next door neighbor, and falling in love with you came so naturally to me.
Ever since we have been together, I have been struggling with my sexuality. And while I know I don't have to define it, there is still a certain comfort level I'd like to one day achieve so I can have a better understanding of myself. Through countless hours of self-analyzing and getting nowhere, I would usually just give up and tell myself to just go with the flow. As long as it felt right, I was willing to just accept it.
I was always just a straight girl, but around when I started college, I began to consider if I could ever work up enough courage to step out of my comfort level and kiss a girl. Yeah, I'd had a few "straight girl crushes" in my life, but I knew there was no desire for intimacy underneath. It was just one of those things. It was completely different from any crush I'd ever had on a guy.
But that was until I met you.
For months I have tried to picture myself with guys. Nothing. Did I somehow magically become a lesbian, practically overnight? No, I don't think that could just happen like that. Besides, I can't be gay if I used to like the opposite sex as much as I did. I guess, by default, that makes me bisexual. So I can picture myself with a girl, right? No, I can't really do that either. So what the hell does that make me? Asexual with the exception of Lauren Hooghuis?
Every time I would try to figure myself out, I would go through this exact pattern of deductive reasoning. "If I'm not this, then maybe I'm this, but I'm not that either" was all I've been telling myself for months. Eventually I would just give up and conclude that the reason I couldn't figure any of it out was because I was too in love with Lauren to be able to even fathom intimacy with anyone else. I just couldn't.
And it was okay, because I knew how I felt about you and it was enough for me. If I could spend the rest of my life being happy with you, I would be content playing the "I don't know" card anytime someone asked. Because I really didn't.
And I still don't.
After over a month of not seeing you this summer, I started to get really nervous. Was the even further distance going to be too much for us to handle? Were you going to lose interest? Was I?
...Was I going to somehow turn back into a heterosexual over the summer and ruin everything good we had going for us?
As we got closer to two months, I got even more insecure about it. Going for a month at a time without seeing you throughout the spring semester was hard enough on me, and each time I was afraid I would somehow lose feelings for you. I never did, but I never ruled out that it wouldn't happen, either. It was the typical fear of any long distance relationship, but with the unfortunate added bonus of my still-lingering uncomfortableness with my sexuality.
Then out of the blue, on Sunday, June 22nd, you told me you were cutting all your hair off.
At first, I was selfish about it. You knew how much I loved your hair long, and I was too ashamed to tell you I didn't want you to do it. So I acted quiet and I didn't say anything, though I knew you'd get the hint that I wasn't exactly thrilled.
I tried to find it in me to tell you I supported you, but I couldn't exactly do that, either. I knew it was a big deal to you, and I was disappointed in myself that I couldn't tell you how proud of you I was for finally doing something you've never been able to do.
I searched online for a familiar face because I desperately needed advice. Eventually, I settled on Eric because no one else was online. He helped a little to get the proverbial ball rolling, and told me that if I told you not to, we'd both be miserable. Even if I told you to do it and you knew how much I didn't want you to anyway, we'd both still be just as miserable. The only option was to let you get it out of your system and hopefully move on with our lives.
I still didn't feel any better.
Just then, my advice-giving angel made himself electronically known. I talked to Russell for three or four hours regarding my predicament, and he really helped me take a step back and realize what my actual fears were. After talking to him, I laid in bed for a few hours and thought long and hard about it.
So why was I getting so upset over a haircut?
It wasn't that you were going to have shorter hair and I preferred it long. It was the fact that because of cutting your hair short, you were losing that one last feminine part of you that I so desperately hung onto. You weren't going to be "Just Tomboy Lauren" anymore when I looked at you; you were going to look like a butch lesbian, which I knew from looking at dozens of girls that I didn't find attractive.
And that was only the beginning.
Was I being completely shallow in my fear of no longer finding you physically attractive? No, I finally decided. Because this is something much deeper than that. This was not just fucking with your physical appearance; it was fucking with my sexuality, too.
Any progress I had made since the beginning of our relationship was completely destroyed. The idea of looking at you and not seeing "Just Lauren" anymore absolutely killed me, but I couldn't help it. You with a fauxhawk just wouldn't be Lauren.
Or would it? Had I fallen in love with the tomboy next door who was never really a tomboy deep down to begin with? Was she always just butch in disguise?
Where does this leave me?
I'm not going to even be able to kiss her, I thought. Every time I look in her direction, if I can even bear to do so, I'm going to start crying. Where was my Lauren? I'm never going to be able to be intimate with her if I feel like this. Even if I don't get my period this weekend, I'm going to tell her I have it because I don't have the heart to tell her the real reason why I don't want to touch her or let her touch me. Every time I thought about all of this, I bawled my eyes out. We had been through so much in eight months, especially in the first few, and now a haircut was going to break us up?
...Was this really happening?
But I couldn't stop you. I knew you had your heart set on getting this done, and I couldn't do anything about it. If our relationship could withstand something like this, then it could withstand anything. And if in the end, I couldn't overcome my struggle with being the femme half of a stereotypical femme/butch lesbian couple, then I shouldn't be dating you. This was something I absolutely had to do.
But if this haircut was going to kill what we had together, I at least wanted to be there for the end. After not seeing you for two whole months, I wanted to see you and kiss you and hold you and lay in bed naked with you and just take you in one last time before you cut it all off. I wanted to watch it happen, even though I knew I would bawl my eyes out the entire time. This was something we needed to do together, because as much as a huge step it was for you, it was just as big a step, in my mind, for me. I knew you'd be there for me, and I wanted to be there for you.
But you wouldn't let me.
Then you called me Monday, I begged and pleaded, but as usual, I got nowhere. And you still cut your hair on Wednesday, just like I knew you would, and I still felt a little betrayed, as usual. And you know what happened after that.
That should bring us up to the present. As for the ending? I couldn't tell you. Because I have no fucking idea what's going to happen.
I can only cross my fingers and hope that we can survive this.
Can we survive this?