The Haircut

2018

I was in the Army Reserve at this point. I had been skirting a line for months. It was February, and I hadn’t cut my hair really short since the previous June. Army haircut standards for men, which I was required to adhere to, had relaxed quite a bit, and as a result, I now had much longer hair than I previously had. I was a reservist, so I drilled monthly. Last month, something had been said to me about my hair, so though I had made sure to stay just within the regulation, they were of course looking for my haircut.  

As a transgender Soldier, I was trying my best to have hair as long and feminine as possible, while staying within the rules for male haircuts, since the Army considered me to be a male. I had been visiting a hair stylist, who was versed in the Army’s haircut requirements, who was shaping my hair more into a pixie hair cut each month, while ensuring that the length at the ears and collar were within regulations.

I hadn’t even reported in yet, and I was already being told that my hair was too long. I promise it wasn’t, and tried to explain how, with the newer haircut standard, I was actually within the regulation. But, they weren’t in a mood to listen. The disagreement escalated quickly, and it was soon obvious that though I could have pushed my position, and since I was within the regulation I’d have won in the end, it would have also created enmity with my chain of command, which is exactly what you do not want.

So, despite working on having a more feminine hair style for months, I agreed to go get my hair cut. Finding a barber on a Saturday morning wasn’t easy, but I located one. The old Black man in the barber shop filled me with confidence when, as I sat in the chair, he commented “I ain’t never cut no white guy’s hair before”.

So he started. He clipped here, clipped there. I really wasn’t anticipating my reaction. There, in the barber’s chair, wearing my Army uniform, with several other older Black men sitting in chairs watching, I saw the hair falling from my head, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. Tears! Are you freaking kidding me?!?!? Tears, in front of everyone?

I spent the rest of the haircut struggling (and winning, can you believe it?) not to cry.

Finally the haircut was over, and I must say, he for sure had no idea how to cut a white person’s hair. My goodness did he butcher my hair. I paid quickly, and as I got in the car, the tears were coming. I went down the street and found a parking lot, and pulled in. Without even knowing why, I sat there in my car, sobbing.

Finally, I was cried out, and I went on to the Reserve Center, stopping once there to wash my face a few times.

Having my hair cut into more of a "male" style really hurt, emotionally. Much more than I had anticipated.