The Hierarchy of Girls’ Hair
A tale of the female experience in the playground
Hair. Strands of protein sticking out of your body surfaces. For some evolutionary reason, certain strands grow longer than others. On top of that, most human societies worldwide decided that for practical or esthetic reasons, some hairs should be cut, others shaved, others left to their own means. It all feels very random, and yet it’s such an essential part of our culture. The idea that “women = long head of hair” dates back to ancient Greeks and Romans. A lot of things have changed since then, but that wasn’t one of them.
I started seriously thinking about what was going on on top of my head in the mid-nineties, at six years old. I had just entered primary school: the ruthless bloodbath of bullying and playground hierarchies. They were simpler times when everyone knew who liked who, and we were all keeping tabs. There was a known hierarchy of beauty for the boys and the girls, depending on how many admirers you had. Much to my dismay, I was somewhere in the middle of the ranking, and in my mind, the only possible reason for that was the length of my hair.
The #1 girl in the ranking, with the entire male population of my class wanting to date her, was Rosarinho. Even boys from other classrooms who’d heard the legends of her beauty would make pilgrimages to our corner of the playground and shamelessly stare at Rosarinho jumping rope. She had a face like Angelina Jolie, and her smooth, shiny, dark brown mane cascaded down her back as if she lived inside a Pantene commercial. And, I noted, she had the longest hair out of everyone in the class.
The #2 girl in the ranking, Vânia, was quite average-looking. She looked just like me (and identical to 90% of Portuguese people): dark brown eyes, straight dark brown hair. So the only reason she could possibly be ahead of me was the length of her hair, which was shoulder-length, the second-longest in our classroom.
It was harder to tell who was girl #3 and onwards, as none of the other girls had a steady stream of devotees. Still, those two data points were enough for me to establish the rule: the longer the hair, the more beautiful you are, and the more admirers you get. It’s just math.
I, too, wanted to be beautiful and admired. I dreamed of having my hair in a braid coming down to my butt, just like Lara Croft, the protagonist of the video game Tomb Raider, which I was obsessed with at the time. Lara Croft was so cool, and we had the same first name, so hair length was the only thing missing.
To achieve my goal, however, I had to go through mom. She wanted my hair at jaw-level tops, so every visit to the salon was a battle with her to let me keep that extra centimetre of hair.
“Cutting your hair will make it grow stronger,” she’d say as I squirmed in the hairdresser’s chair. “And in any case, you shouldn’t care what the other kids think.”
“But mom, have you ever seen a princess with short hair?” I’d argue back, my voice quavering and tears forming in the corners of my eyes.
Over time my mom let me keep more and more of my hair. However, even after a year of slow progress in convincing her, I never got it to touch my shoulders. So I remained in the middle of the pack, daydreaming about Rosarinho and Vânia *accidentally* falling to their deaths from one of the playground towers during recess.
As fate would have it, I didn’t need to resort to such drastic measures. One day, Vânia (a.k.a. girl #2) arrived at school with a bob.
I can’t believe my luck, I thought to myself.
All of a sudden, Vânia’s boyfriend Pedro broke up with her. The other boys who’d been after her just a few days prior were now saying, “I don’t know why, but she just isn’t cool anymore.”
And there I was, with my slightly longer hair, ready to take her spot. I was the hot new thing in the playground. Boys were passing me handwritten scraps of paper in class, asking me to come to watch them play football. Others would ask their best friend to tell me that they liked me.
I started dating three boys at the same time, and they were all okay with the arrangement. In those days, dating encompassed little more than telling people that I had a boyfriend (or three), but still, it was an accomplishment. I was especially proud of the fact that one of my boyfriends was Pedro, Vânia’s ex, and I loved to think of all the jealousy she must have been harboring inside.
Ah, those were the days.
As I grew into my teenage years, I started being allowed to make my own hair decisions. Going to the salon no longer meant getting a haircut but simply a brushing, or sometimes trimming a microscopic bit off the ends. Unfortunately, all the other girls in my class did the same. So we all had long hair, and it was no longer a deciding factor on the cuteness hierarchy. To be popular then, I needed big boobs or 100€ sweatshirts, things I had less control over.
Never again did I reach the same heights in my class’s beauty ranking. So I hold dear in my heart the time when I was the second cutest girl in class — even if it was just because of my hair.
Continue following my hair adventures here:
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