thevillagecharlatan

I have returned from five days of corporate feasting and am ready to assume some new responsibilities at work. Unfortunately, within an hour of getting back to my office, I cut myself badly in the kitchen while slicing Tofurky and feel this to have undermined my public face of reliability, ambition, and intelligence. The cut is bleeding through its band-aid and reminding the world of my unruly nature. And speaking of my unruly nature, I’m about to go get my first haircut as an official out-to-the-world dyke. Will I tell the hairstylist this? Should I let her perception of what “dyke haircuts” are supposed to look like have bearing on my new public homo identity? The haircut is the first frontier to other people, and I am loath to force my hair into some gay framework that it was probably already edging towards anyway. My gay identity-hair should move at its own pace. Shall I name a style icon (Sophie Scholle, Jimmy Page, Young Beethoven)? Shall I ask them to accommodate a lazy, poor graduate student with no room in her life for acronym-based styling products with names like “B Twelve: your power-putty for achieving that parochial school escapee look”? Perhaps I will post a photo of the results on this Dollar Blog and invite public commentary.

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