A Constant Need for Change

STORY BY

JOEY HARVEY

I snapped. I was in a cramped bathroom with my partner, deeply concerned yet compliant, as I told him to start cutting my hair. It was silent besides the impact of each strand of hair falling behind me. I felt the rough texture of the clippers as they ran through my once-glorious mane, making an annoying yet haunting buzzing sound that grew louder as my hair became shorter. I felt great tension in the room from my partner and our anxious dog who watched my unraveling. It didn’t help that I was standing in front of the mirror, a manic 6-foot-3 baby, internally sobbing as Beyonce’s “Pretty Hurts” played on a loop in my head. This night unfolded a year after I decided to grow my hair out. I finally wanted to embrace my dark, natural loose-coiled curls that I hated for most of my youth. It was cathartic watching my hair progress because I had never let my hair just be. I felt great. I received compliments from friends and strangers and was gassed up on social media, which made my Libra moon smile. When I walked, my hair had this subtle bounce and shine that made me feel like I was a model in a Pantene commercial. Not to sound conceited, but it was a moment.

My hair means a lot to me. It’s an entity where I find creative expression. But I also find reinvention through my hair when I badly need a clean slate to cope with the challenges that most twentysomethings undergo. My poor coping mechanisms, which my therapist Madison often reminds me to avoid — cutting my hair, damaging my scalp, singeing my curls, and occasionally getting minor chemical burns — are less toxic forms of expression. But according to Madison, these are (sort of) an improvement and less harmful than some of my other coping mechanisms. My hair transformation was often motivated by my oddly comedic impulsive mania. It started in high school when I decided to call it quits with my first long-term boyfriend, named “internalized homophobia,” who still occasionally shows up from time to time. But at that point, I grew tired of “butching” myself up for my peers, which I had gone to far lengths to do. For almost two years, I was a part of my school’s football team. Being among very fragile young male high schoolers was an experience I’d like to forget. But, it wasn’t as bad as the time I led two girls into thinking that I had feelings for them, who I genuinely hope I did not hurt or cause any trauma. Regardless, I wanted to change. In a moment of silence as I lay in my bed staring at my bedroom ceiling, I finally admitted to myself that I was gay. “Cool… now what?” I thought. I threw out all of my clothes from Tilly’s and started shopping at H&M and Forever 21. I grabbed my scissors, cut all of my shorts to a sensible upper-mid-thigh length, and started wearing tank tops, though they were a dress code violation. Eventually, I got highlights, and then people began to get the clue that I was gay. Though I was taking the form of a stereotype that I saw so frequently in the media, I was slowly growing into the person I had kept hidden for years. I found an outlet of expression through my hair and finally felt free to express myself. I went through many hair colors and styles: blonde, blue, pink, turquoise. I started to straighten my hair, which left my hair looking

like strands of uncooked spaghetti. It wasn’t SQUARE UP cute, but it was something that I needed. Soon after, hair transformation became my response to when life was rough. People bullied me, so I dyed my hair as a response AND TOLD THEM to square up and told them fuck off. My depression got bad, so I dyed my hair. My mom and dad got a divorce, and I dyed my FUCK OFF. ” hair. I suffered my first heartbreak, and guess what I did. I found comfort in creating a reincarnated version of myself that was stronger and wiser. At times I wanted to rebel so badly because it gave me control. In my teenage mind I thought I could find this act of control through my hair. It grounded me. It liberated me. It made me feel present as I was struggling to keep the trajectory of my life on track. But through my hair, I had this persona that I could create who was self aware, resilient and unapologetically themselves as they stood out in a sea of students at Diamond Bar High. It became a regular occurrence, but by high school I cooled down with the bad dye jobs. Unfortunately, I began to make questionable choices as a response to coping, but my scalp and hair were happy at least. Though my hair and scalp endured severe damage, it was cathartic knowing I had this outlet. It was impulsive and ultimately painful to have my head shaved and temporarily part ways with my perfectly coiled curls. But I’ll emphasize temporarily, because they’re not gone (surprisingly) because I put them through hell for years. As corny as this may sound, I grow as much as my hair does. Together we work in tandem physically, spiritually and quite poetically. As Lady Gaga once sang and my high school self would often say, “I’m as free as ABOVE: my hair.” Joey Harvey went through So when I shaved my head that night, many hair colors and I was reintroduced to how much of a transstyles as a form of formation your hair can make when I looked self-expression. at the reflection of that 6-foot-3 individual. Their eyes were a bit puffy. They looked flushed. But color began to fill their cheeks and eventually a smile broke through, followed by a faint laugh and a giant exhale. “You look good, bitch,” I said.

Harvey when they decided to grow their hair out and embrace their natural hair color and curls.

Joey Harvey, hair dyed blonde. They went through many hair colors: blonde, blue, pink, turquoise.