You haven’t had steamy sex until you’ve done it with long hair. After adding mid-back blonde extensions to my usual platinum pixie, I had the chance to experience sex from an entirely unique perspective that I didn’t even know existed. My long blonde hair was like a dirty maid Halloween costume…you know how girls get in dirty maid costumes.
Masks, wigs, clothes, even sunglasses -– they give us an out. They allow, if not encourage us to set aside our inhibitions, while providing a filter between us and our oh-so-mundane realities. Pre-receiving my long blonde extensions, I was a woman with confidence and strength; a pretty successfully self-employed gal with great friends and a loving family, a beautiful apartment without roommates, and a basically healthy sex life. If my experience informs me correctly, short-haired-Mihal had at least a medium amount of sex appeal, providing me enough opportunities to go out on dates, have casual (mostly fulfilling) sex, construct some decent after-sex texts, and keep it moving.
Post-receiving my long blonde extensions, I transformed into an ultra-feminine gift unto the world. My laugh became mellifluous and charming, my gait developed more hip action, and my head began to tilt flirtatiously without my even realizing. I could side-braid the hair like the models in Alexander Wang’s S2010 Collection, or pile it on top of my head with a colorful headscarf and bold red lips. I was still the old me deep inside –- I’m a girl who loves to work hard, loves dinner and long talks with friends, and of course, a girl who loves sex. Only now, the prospect of first dates no longer felt awkward, and the potential of hot sex called to me even more. So I did it, duh.
Went on a couple of dates, had a couple of mates. And at the risk of sounding like an anti-movement traitor, believe me when I tell you that sex — casual sex specifically — is a different animal when long hair is involved…as was I. I flipped it, I whipped it, I brushed it out of his eyes, I brushed it from mine. When my long tresses got in between our soft, wet kisses, I moved them out of the way with a coy smile. Blow jobs with long hair resembled an act of sensual prayer. Long hair made my skin feel silkier! My legs feel longer! Breasts? Perfect. Cellulite?! GONE. I felt like a Grecian goddess, a porn star and the girl next door all in one.
The next morning my femme-bot hair wasn’t a spikey unsightly mess, it was just bed messy -– sex messy. Morning sex with the long blonde extensions was just as good, if not better — as was the post-sex brunch outfit I put together. Jeans. Ratty white v-neck. High messy bun.
You’re kidding yourself if you don’t acknowledge that your hair communicates a message to the world. New York, specifically, is a whore for a good mop on top. Whether it’s a long bohemian natural wave, a head of half-shaved half-dyed dreadlocks, or an angsty swoopy-banged shag -– we love us some captivating hair. Women’s hair, specifically, transmits a multi-faceted story. Think about what hair would look like on the following female prototypes: a carefree Cali girl, an Upper East Side housewife, a Lower East Side painter, a (gasp!) girl from the projects, a (gaaaasp!!) lesbian. Our hair speaks to our character, our sexuality, our spirituality, our intellect.
This is not to say that these projections are valid. I’m certainly not saying that short-haired girls can’t have righteous sex (I’ve been known to have one or two short-haired romps in the sack)…or that long-haired girls always do. There is simply something to be said for the power held within a hair flip, or the innocent peering out from behind a fallen lock. Brigitte Bardot, Angelina Jolie, Beyonce (yeah hers are fake too but whatever) – I’m no data analyst but I’d say that at least 90% of all Hollywood (or blogosphere!) sexbombs surrounding us have longish to long tresses. Women want the look because it’s glam, coquettish, mysterious. Men are attracted to the look because, simply put, it’s uber-feminine. They can run their fingers through it softly or give it a nice tug from behind (if you catch my drift). Shall I launch into some discourse about heteronormativity and the dangers surrounding gender dynamics? Me thinks not right now, though obviously they’re in the not-so-distant background. But I will tell you this: valid or not, in those two weeks of long-haired luxury, I fully indulged every politically-incorrect part of what it means to be a carefree hetero-seductress, with her mind on sex and her (fake) hair flowing freely. I subscribed to the myth and enjoyed every minute of that badboy.
Of course I believe that short cuts can be sexy and chic - I should know, mine changed my life. But as I pulled those painfully, torturously itchy extensions out earlier this week, I can’t deny that I experienced a tinge of doubt and fear. What if I never have hot Grecian goddess/porn star/girl next door sex again?! Will my skin ever again feel the way Dove commercial skin looks? How does a person without long hair make their cellulite magically disappear?! More importantly, what else can money buy that will give me the same rush of inhibition and guise of exaggerated femininity?! Maybe I’ll be giving the dirty maid Halloween costume a whirl this year.