clatterbane:

Oh my. Just reminded of an actually kind of funny thing that happened 5 or 6 years ago.

I got a call one day from a hair shop I hadn’t been to for a long time, because I had been letting my hair grow out for at least a year by that point. But, they called to inform me that I had missed an appointment that afternoon, and would I like to reschedule?

Somebody must have just made a mistake and grabbed an old appointment book. That’s the best I could figure.

But, my first thought there? Jfc, my mother has done it AGAIN. I had mentioned at some point that one stylist there had done a really good job with my hair, so this time she actually made a goddamned international call because she decided I needed something done with my hair. And didn’t even tell me about the appointment she made. It figures.

Wait a minute, she’s dead. Probably not, though I wouldn’t put it past her to figure out how to…

But yeah, that really was my immediate thought there.

While of course I could do anything I wanted to with my hair, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to hear about it incessantly if she didn’t like the cut. Not so much the color, for some odd reason, but the cut.

And she did indeed take it upon herself to schedule appointments for me without asking, besides bugging me to do it. Because my hair looked AWFUL.

The last time was when I was back home for months, and well into my 30s. I just didn’t go that time, and left her to explain it to them. You can maybe imagine how well that went over. I knew how it would go, and did it anyway.

But yeah, terrible boundaries.

At least I got a dark laugh out of that particular incident, though.

Reminded of this again, with one post that came across my dash.

There are about as many ways to act controlling and overly concerned about how other people’s appearances might reflect on you, as there are people. And the more covert ones aren’t necessarily much fun to deal with either.

Not too surprisingly, mine took pretty much the same approach to clothes. While I could wear anything I wanted, by golly would I keep getting nagged about it if she didn’t like the style or didn’t think it was “flattering” enough 😩

That pattern stood out even more after I moved out from under other daily influence there–and that crap went into overdrive whenever she saw me. It wasn’t nearly that intense when I was in my teens. Which made too much sense, in a rather sad way.

That same trip where (in my 30s) I just didn’t go to the hair appointment she made without consulting me, I finally said fuck it and gave myself a haircut. Partly because I was just that exasperated, and partly because I didn’t want to (a) face that hairdresser after the awkwardness or (b) try to find another one who wouldn’t butcher it. (Especially with curly hair. Might end up like Larry, Moe, AND Curly on different parts of my head from the same cut. Wouldn’t be the first time.)

Getting pushed into acting like a rebellious kid when you’re getting treated like one (more than when you were an actual kid) may have had something to do with it, too 🙄 I obviously cared a lot less what it looked like than she did, by that point. It’s my head.

Anyway, I didn’t expect that to shut her up. At all. But, I also didn’t expect the mental health concern trolling rant she went off on 😵 “Are you on drugs?! Well, it looks like you badly need to be on more!”–with variations for at least half an hour straight. She knew very well that she did not have the same power to sic mental health professionals on me anymore, and have them automatically side with her. Especially over something that plain ridiculous. (And, thankfully, so did I by then.)

But, she felt a need to threaten it at length. Over a haircut she didn’t like, when I was over 30. (!) And somehow expected me not to just go home and leave her to it. (That took a while longer, because they did still need help looking after my grandmother. But, that behavior did help the decision. Wasn’t really accomplishing much beyond getting driven crazy.)

Anyway, I guess I am still harboring some anger over that garbage. Besides its just seeming surreal.

But, I’m really glad to be living with somebody who doesn’t really care if I have any hair, much less what the details might be. There are also reasons I tend to err on the side of just not saying anything about people’s appearances, particularly unsolicited–and no matter who they are. That’s up to them. It’s really not my concern.