Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen who desperately wanted a child. It seemed like an eternity, but then one perfect day, the queen became pregnant. During the height of her term, she craved a particular kind of vegetable that happened to be growing in their neighbor’s yard. (Do kings and queens have neighbors? Never you mind that for now.)

The neighbor was an old lady or a witch which is pretty much the same thing. (If two witches were watching two watches, which witch would watch which watch?) The queen became green with vegetable envy and ordered her husband, the king, to fetch her some rampion. The king was none too pleased about this executive order, but there was little else he could do since it was considered bad form to deny a pregnant woman what she wanted.

So instead of asking the witch, or getting a boot-licking lackey to do the deed, he decided to get some fresh air, and climb over this insanely high wall to fetch those tantalizing greens for his wife, the queen.


The first time I tried to do something with my hair was around 11 or 12 years old. I must have pleaded with my mom to take me to a salon because that’s exactly what she did, which is not like her, especially given the fact that she left me alone in the hairdresser’s chair.

Before this, I simply combed my long straight hair once in the morning, and ran around with my younger brother like a wild animal until the sun decided to call it a day.

But on this special day, I was determined to get my hair feathered. I grew up on TV shows like Charlie’s Angeles, Dukes of Hazards, and Dallas, all of which promised beauty and glamour from hairspray and feathered fringe.

“I don’t know,” the hairstylist said as she looked at me in the mirror, “your hair is pretty straight.”

The look of crushed hope was all she needed to give it a try. After she cut it, the salon, it seemed, held its breath as she combed it back, and when it stayed like a raven’s wing, tears formed in my eyes.


The king was successful (duhhh!), but once the queen, his wife, got that sweet taste of rampion on her lips, she had to have more, more, and more, until one not-so-fine day, the king was caught stems in hand. The witch, who never had a child of her own, and probably drove men away with her strong ways, made a bargain with the king.

Give me your daughter.”

I don’t have a daughter.”

The child your wife is pregnant with, you nitwit!”

I’d rather not.”

Give her to me!”



The queen…”


Will kill…”

To me!”

Me,” ended the king lamely.

We do not know how long (or short) the king and crone argued, as this is an old tale that spans back to the 1800s, but eventually, the king shrugged and said, “Suit yourself, woman. I’ve got a beheading to attend to.”


In high school, I decided to stop envying my friends’ purple or red-hued locks, and learned to dye my hair from a box. Since then, I’ve dyed my hair many times throughout the years. I even did blond streaks (but at a salon), but I researched the color carefully since I didn’t want it to look like a yellow highlighter. What I learned was, for Asians, a wheat color looks best. It gave me an instant tan, magically, flattering my skin color, and I loved how it turned out.

Another time my friend Jen and I decided to dye our hair together. We went to the drugstore, picked out our colors, and returned to her house.

After our heads were full of tacky dye, and as we were waiting our 20 minutes before rinsing the color out, Jen picked up one of the boxes, “Hmmm. My color’s Crystal Brown that sounds like a porn name.”

We laughed.

“What’s your color?”

“Chocolate Cherry.”


After the queen gave birth, they named their beautiful child, the child they always wanted, Rapunzel. (Oddly, they named her after the vegetable the queen craved as Rapunzel means rampion.) The witch didn’t waste any time and showed up in the queen’s bed-chamber to take Rapunzel away. The queen and king cried and suffered for both of their stupidity.

The witch, on the other hand, was over the moon. She raised Rapunzel as if she were her own, and like the deranged old bird that she was, locked Rapunzel in a tower. Rapunzel never saw another single soul, so she never knew that her hair was longer than most.

She had some pipes on her though, and sang to keep herself company. It was her voice that attracted a handsome Prince who was riding through the woods, one bright day. But as much as he tried, he couldn’t find his sweet lark. Until! He heard…

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

Through the hedges, he spied a beautiful blond throw her long, long hair out of a tower window – and then (ta-dum!) an old woman climbed up her hair! Who’s to say if this was the strangest thing he had ever seen, because he seemed alright about it and waited until the old bat had left the tower so that he might try the same trick.


We were living in Chico, California, a college town known for its big trees and parties. During a lunch break, I decided to check out a new hair salon. All seemed normal until the stylist disappeared. My wet hair was dripping on the floor as I sat staring at my self in an otherwise empty salon.

From the back room, I could hear noises. I shifted in my seat, using my hands to billow out the plastic barber’s cape. I was young and polite enough not to yell, “Is everything alright?” because these days, I probably would have walked back there to see what was going on.

Then, as if it was my birthday, the stylist came out with a large bowl of popcorn with red Twizzlers sticking out.


“I hope you like popcorn!”

She was so elated that I didn’t want to admit that I hated both popcorn and licorice. Instead, it sat between us and my reflection like the awkward gift that I never wanted or expected. We made small talk skirting around the mound of food. I felt bad, but I also was annoyed to be put in a position to eat a massive bowl of (salty and sticky) snacks while someone tried to cut my hair?!

The ordeal ended with her curling my ends as if it were the 1960s rather than 40 years into the future.


Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” The confident Prince cried.

Rapunzel, not recognizing that her mother’s voice had deepened, let down her hair. To be sure, she looked away, possibly filing her nails or playing cat’s in the cradle, ignoring the heavier pull on her hair, for when the Prince entered, Rapunzel was shocked. She had never seen a man before!

If you are under 18, then Rapunzel and the Prince did nothing but talk, fall in love, and plan a future together. This plan entailed Rapunzel secretly fashioning a ladder so that when the time came, they could both climb out of the tower.

Time passed and Rapunzel became too contented because one day when the old crone climbed up her hair, she foolishly said,“Why can’t you climb up as fast as the Prince?”

The old bird was quick to pounce, “What Prince?”

Oh! Oh, no!”

So, she cut off Rapunzel’s golden locks and kicked her out of the tower. (Heartless!)

If you’re over 18, the old witch noticed Rapunzel’s baby bump and booted her out of the tower. Regardless of which version, the old woman waited with Rapunzel’s hair. She didn’t have to wait long.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”

The witch let down Rapunzel’s hair and the Prince, not knowing any better, climbed up his true love’s hair to discover the witch on the other end.

Was it attempted suicide that made the Prince jump out of the very tall tower? Or did the witch push him? Whatever happened, the Prince fell upon thorns that blinded him. He wandered, then, for years trying to find his true love.


I was only 9 years old, so how could I be blamed? I remember hiding in my friend Angela’s bathroom while she cut chewing gum out of my hair. She might have playfully stuck it in or it might have been an accident. I thought that was the end of it, until mom found out. She was furious, so angry that she cut my long hair that ran down my back into a chin-length bob. I cried while she cut it, and so did she.

I guess she was mad that I let someone else cut my hair. I thought the cut was well-hidden, but apparently not. Later, after her madness was spent, she apologized profusely, encouraging me to shampoo my hair often to bring my long hair back.

Strangely, snipping long hair became something I would do to not only Barbie dolls, but myself. I understood that my hair grew back relatively quickly. I started to mark turning points with dramatic haircuts: my first heartbreak in college, my second year of teacher training, and at the end of a long term relationship. Perhaps this was my way of saying, I’ve changed.


The Prince wandered for years. Rapunzel gave birth to twins in the desert. Thankfully, the Prince found his way to the desert, where he was reunited with Rapunzel. However, she was horrified to learn that her dear prince was blind. She held him in her lap and wept, but miraculously her tears fell upon his eyes, restored his sight, and they lived happily ever after.


These days, I know what looks good on me. I’ve experimented with my hair enough to know that below the shoulders is a good length. I’ve learned to not fight with what I’ve got, but go with it. Straight bangs have become my signature look. My hair is graying. I don’t dye it, but I pluck out the renegade strands from time to time. I’ve learned to cut my hair. Despite living in an Asian country, most Thai hairdressers are too old-fashioned for my tastes. I like a messier look, not the iron curtain that is coveted here. I’ve also grown sick of taking care of it. Every day I clean it up off the floors and from the shower drain. It’s my humidifier, too, swampy, in a tropical climate, after I’ve washed it, but I’m lucky to have a good head of hair.

What’s your hair story?

32 replies on “Hair: a braided essay

  1. Great story! I felt the same way about feathered hair in the 80s. I did eventually get it, but even though my hair is wavy it never seemed to look as good as all the cooler girls’ feathered hair.

    I seem to have a hair block at the moment. I haven’t had a hair cut since late 2018 (literally!) and I don’t even really know why. Maybe I’ll cut it all off eventually.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, glad you liked it! Yeah, my fear, now that I’ve found my haircut is that I’ll be stuck in a time machine…sorry, I can’t recommend any hairstyles for you. I’m afraid that I’m not good at that kind of stuff. You could always go to a hairstylist and say, “I’m in your hands.”

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I do love your hair story. I have really fine, straight hair that defies pretty much any attempt at styling which requires growing it beyond a length of about three inches. Sometimes I get rebellious and grow out the fringe — until I can’t take not being able to see and cut it again. On the plus side, armed with little more than a comb, a razor and some firm-hold hair product, I can produce a look that convinces enough people I have a pretty good hairdresser. Some even ask for her name!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. This is a fun post Lani!
    As a bloke I can afford to be totally uncaring about my hair. Provided I can see where I am going I have no interest in it. I did consider having it (or my beard) dyed purple a couple of years ago but I blame medication for a few months of uncharacteristic extroversion 😉

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hahahaha. Purple! What an interesting choice. It suits you though 😛

      Glad you liked it. The dang thing went through many versions/transformations. Now, I’m not sure how old you are, but you look like you have a full head of hair, which seems to be a big deal for men!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you Lani. I think the comedian Billy Conolly dyeing his beard purple was my inspiration.
        I am 53 and do have a full head of hair though thinner than it was! My dad had a comb-over by 30 but my grandfather kept his hair all his life so it looks like I take after him. Not that I would be especially bothered. My hair is still mostly brown but my younger brother has been grey since his early 40s. Weird eh?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I do recall something about balding being on one side of the family? and it skipping a generation? Also, hats, were supposed to cause balding…hmmmm.

        Speaking of British comedians, I’m currently working my way through ‘Would I Lie To You’. Do you watch these kinds of game shows? Cause I love them!


      3. Never worn hats so that might explain it😉😂
        I’m not a big fan of panel shows but Would I Lie To You? Is an exception largely because I find Lee Mack hilarious. I like Room 101 also.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I googled Lee Mack after this and discovered he was born in Lancashire, like me. Naturally this explains his talent😉😍


      5. Hahahaha. Too funny. I love British comedians and culture. One of these days I should write about it!


  4. You’re a good reader. That was fun.
    I’ve always loved the Rapunzel story. Maybe it was those gorgeous drawings in my fairy tale books.
    We all have hair stories, don’t we? My mom had a story that was famous in the family about doing a real chop job on her hair when she was about–oh, I don’t know–four years old, and how angry my grandma got.
    Our beauty parlors have shut down because of the corona-virus. My hair has been getting too short anyway. I’ll just let it grow and look for a pretty barrette to keep it out of my eyes.


  5. Great retelling and hair story, Lani!! 😀 Always loved Rapunzel (the story not the girl since she’s pretty stupid)) 😉), and used to have hair like her when I was a kid, only mine were brown. Then puberty hit and with it my hair grew thinner and thinner so I cut it bit for bit for bit…. Because long thin hair doesn’t look pretty at all. Anyway my paternal grandma had the same thing so I know how it will end – not very fairy tale like. 😯 But there are worse things, and if or when it get’s really bad there are always hats and scarves and wigs! 😄

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh dear. Well, my mom’s hair thinned with age but I’m 98% sure it’s because she had a poor diet growing up. Maybe that’s the case with your grandma, too? There are so many products to thicken your hair if you care to go down that road. I’d never know it looking at photos of you! Thanks.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s not too bad at the moment and I can still cover it up. 😉 It’s only noticable if I try wearing a messy bun high on top that the thinner parts show.
        The poor diet could have been partly cause for my grandma’s problem but since I always ate healthy and well that can’t be all it was.

        Liked by 1 person

  6. The story of my hair is short, shorter, shortest. I’ve always battled against public perceptions of me, and hair is a huge part of that. Grow it out! Style it! Boys like it long! But when I look back at my childhood, it’s my shortest haircuts that most resemble me. I even suspect the long hair makes me look too much like my mother; she’s wonderful, but I need my own separate identity.

    You can tell it troubled me just by how many times I went back to ‘growing it out.’ It was slightly wavy, very fine, dishwater blonde. There’s something terrible about that mousy blonde color that required dying. It was red a lot, or black (a mistake with my reddish skin tone); it was bleached yellow, it was teal. In Kazakhstan my hairdresser host mom used it for an entire rainbow of colors – silver was beautiful. Then I shaved it off, then I grew it back out. It bleached blonde in the sun, shoulder length, before the last time I cut it short for good. When I was 38, a man filling out a license application looked at me closely, said, “Really? Blonde?” and I asked my friends and it turns out it’s brown.

    Now I maintain a pixie. I like having my hair cut. I hate the way it tickles my neck. I hate hair in the drain, on the counter, on the floor, everywhere. It gets caught under my spouse in our sleep. It’s so fine I keep it up in a pony tail, which gives me a headache. I don’t style it. I can’t dye it. And I work in places with nasty chemicals where my hair could get caught or tangled and it’s just easier short. But old habits die hard, and I look at longer hair and sometimes I think “What if…”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Consider yourself lucky, then, I wish I could pull of shorter hair. I don’t have the good bones for it. And the older I get, the more annoying it is to deal with my hair.

      Thanks for sharing your hair story! xo

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks! I had to rescue your comment out of spam. I’m not sure why but my spam filter has been hella aggressive lately 😛

      Appreciate it!


  7. Jeez, memories!

    I have straight hair, medium amount but it tends to be fine. I always wanted ebony blue black hair that was coarser and heavier. I think you know what I mean.

    Except learning via some sisters who do have the above latter hair, it’s hair that will not stay put when rolled up in a bun/up-do, etc. But it’s just lovely to see, especially when hair is neatly trimmed at the edges, long and healthy.

    Right now, it’s shaggy and we all have our hair stories during this pandemic.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. We always want the hair (or body or whatever) until we learn to be happy with what we have, right?

      And good point about the pandemic hair stories! 😛 I actually cut own my hair, but it was the second time since I don’t like getting my hair cut here – such a time commitment!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Time commitment to have hair stylist cut your hair..?

        Then we learned of those with very wavy hair, how much they try to iron their hair… Yes, we have to love our natural inherited traits.


      2. Hahahhaa. No, the time commitment on my part. I hate how long it takes… In Thailand they wash your hair at least 3x then after they cut your hair (there’s a diff person for each job, btw), someone else has to blow dry it, then the scissor-wielder returns, and when they blow dry your hair they take forever straightening your hair out. It’s an inefficient system and I hate that they work super hard to curl my ends with the blow drier and brush. GAH. I’m getting stressed just writing about it. 😛

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Wow. It’s to keep everyone employed?? My hair gets washed twice..2nd time is after the cut. It’s very quick, only 5 min. to rinse out bits of cut hair.

        My hair is cut shorter than yours, so blow drying is not using the brush also. When I go this year, to reduce covid possibility, I may ask that I wash my own hair lst at home and go to salon for the cut. Then forget about the blow drying…

        Liked by 1 person

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