No, I didn’t get paid for it. The hair market ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.
Children, let me tell you a little story. Two stories, actually. First, my favorite O’Henry short story, "The Gift of the Magi." In this tale, Jim and Della are a young couple who are very poor but very in love. It’s Christmas, and Della is upset because she has no money to buy Jim a present. So, she sells her most prized possession, her hair, so she can buy Jim a chain for HIS most prized item, his pocket watch.
She gets her hair cut off and cries, but she is glad once she buys Jim his chain. When he comes home, he presents her with his gift to her: some tortoise shell combs for her hair. She says it’s okay, her hair will grow back, she loves them. She gives him his watch chain, and that’s when it is revealed that in order to buy her hair combs, he has sold his watch.
If I had a good reason to sell my hair (or if the economy got even worse, God forbid) I might still be at it on thehairtrader.com. But all of you should have been badgering me about why I wasn’t donating my hair to an organization like Locks of Love. I was so afraid someone would ask, because I knew I was being selfish.
Story number two:
The day after Christmas 2006, I cut my hair to my chin. It had been almost as long as my hair was this time around, before I cut it. I donated my hair to Locks of Love that day, and everyone praised me for being so charitable. I ate that attention up, naturally. A month and a half later, my mom suddenly wasn’t herself, and we all know where that story went. She lost her hair and I cursed myself for giving mine away. I suppose it was a natural reaction.
Just the same, I wasn’t feeling nearly so charitable this time. I was feeling pretty bitter, and when I found out a couple months ago how much you can get for selling your hair, I changed plans pretty quickly. I hadn’t even planned to grow it out again; it happened more so out of laziness than anything, and not bothering to find a salon in Columbus.
But I have been doing some thinking in recent weeks, and Brandon has been very supportive. He agreed to go in on it with me, and cut all his hair off in solidarity with me on Monday afternoon at Lucky 13. It was what I should have done in the first place, and I knew it the whole time.
However, if anyone I am close to is diagnosed in the nextcouple months, then woah boy, I am going to be writing an angry letter or something. I’m just saying.
And now, an impromptu photo shoot from last night: