The Assertive Woman Strikes Again

Today I got a haircut that I really don't like, but I didn't tell the guy because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. This happens every time. And ultimately it's my fault because I really didn't tell him what I wanted in the first place. I had searched the internet and looked at the hairstyle books in the waiting room and had pictures picked out of what I wanted my hair to look like and everything, but when I finally sat down in that chair I didn't even show him. Just mentioned something about how I would like a cut that lent itself to curling better and how I am trying to grow it out. When what I should have said was "I want it a teeny bit longer on the bottom and a little bit of layers on top and most of the fullness in the middle. And don't cut too much because I am trying to grow it out!!! Like this: (show picture)." So I got what I asked for, I guess.

I wanted something like this...

...and ended up with something more along the lines of... this.

Thankfully, it's still long enough to pull back into a ponytail until it grows out a little bit.

Within attempts to decode this dialect within my new relationship we have been referring to it as "girl code" or something similar, and while I feel this may be a problem that exists as a pattern among women I think it is far to simple and doesn't serve the nature of the problem to label it purely "girl language." I mean, sure, men and women are socialized to communicate in different ways, but I think that some people are unusually capable of being open with their emotions and comfortable with their feelings (in a general as well as a more intimate context), and others, like myself, are terrified of the potential negative consequences that may result from the truth of their statements, feelings, ideas or desires. I feel nervous at the thought of asking my new roommate to remember to lock the doors, or to be direct and clear with my hairstylist. The idea of negotiating business contracts, stating what I want in a relationship or being assertive as a landlord quite frankly terrifies the shit out of me.

Writing this made me remember that a very long time ago my mother gave me a book called The Assertive Woman. It is definitely still sitting in the very back of my bookcase, behind 501 Spanish Verbs and Auto Repair for Dummies. I know because I just went to pull it out and plan to later peruse it in search of my more assertive self. Oh, mother. She must have known that I would have this problem someday. Moms always know...

Oh well, at least it's just hair...