. . .for example, I don't really wish to broad cast to staff and students that I wear a wig to work everyday. I used to not care back in the states. In fact having a new hair style each day was fun. But my previous job didn't require me to be smiley and approachable in person. . .and I still had more hair then.
I gave up trying to "keep what I have" when I came to Japan. Mainly because taking a small bottle of liquid on a plane is sure to get you detained by security at the very least. My hyper active imagination also generated horror scenarios of being cavity searched and being put on terrorist watch lists. (Most family and friends already know the story of my back pack being mistaken for a terrorist threat . . in my small farm country hometown! Really?!)
I was also uncertain I would have the same means available to me while abroad. Not that I would be able to read the instructions. So I decided to concede defeat. The first month was pretty bad where it seemed like the hair on the top of my head was making a mass defection. Every touch brought away a few more strands and the reinforcement that there was no turning back. It was a shock at first, compared to my mutinous hair's usual stealth method of slipping off onto my pillow while I slept. It seemed like all out war for a while there. One that I was losing badly. And then it stopped.
Or at least slowed down.
I'm 26 with grey and white hair in the manner of a man in his 50's. I've been losing pigment and hair since 16. And I have my good days and my bad. Some days it can still be depressing, and most days I wonder why I don't chop it all off and be done with it. In a twisted sense of revenge against my own defective hair. But the resolve to go all Mia Farrow on my hair was a little less Emo and more practical.
The children in my Orange class (5-6 yr olds) saw a bit of grey poking out from under the wig. They were so shocked by the site of it that they completely ignored the lesson as they felt it imperative to point it out to me. As if I some how missed it in my daily appointments with a mirror. I somehow missed it when I brush my teeth, wash my face, put on make-up and, above all, when I put on my wig. I think the shock to them was the fact that none of their other teachers have grey hair. Even the older teachers were perfectly consistent with their black or brown hair. No one else was sporting such a typical indicator of old age.
And that was what did it. I finally caved to the media endorsed and society pressured obsession that I must not look old. I must spend time and energy fighting age with every tooth and nail. With every fiber of my being I must protest the progression of time and its reflection on my person. Since I am already older than most that decide to spend time abroad teaching I prefer not to look the part. (My younger cousin already completed that part of her life years ago. But that's just one of my many quirks, I do things a bit late.)
My small problem is that I can't read katakana or hiragana so buying hair dye and using it is out of the questions (for now). So I took the scissor and cut away with wild abandon. There is a bit of therapy involved with physically shedding something undesirable. However once I cut my hair to an alarmingly short length I was faced with my real hair color. Something I hadn't seen since college. And that was when I learned I was not going to be one of those fortunate people who go solid white or solid grey. That would at least have been cool for someone my age. But no, I'm what they call salt and pepper. A little color here, a few splotches of white there. Mature for a man, haggish on a woman.
I have cut away my grey to appear more my age should my own hair slip out from under my wigs. Frankly, despite the teaching part of my job, it really is more like an English Host Club. An image that is difficult to fight against when the manager, and all but one of the teachers, are female. The majority are young unmarried teachers and even the married ones are physically appealing. I don't want to be the one rotten apple in the bunch.
But Japan is said to be humid and horrible in the summer. I fear what I will do other than suffer and sweat to death. I am proud of the fact that without lying to anyone I have kept my wig wearing a secret. They just assume I am super image conscious when I go to the bathroom every morning when I arrive to fix my hair. What they don't realize is that I am taking off the wig and furiously fanning myself to cool down before I start the day.
I haven't yet figured out what I'm going to do when I want long hair again for winter. Is there a plausible excuse for rapid hair growth?
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