How 15-Year-Old Me Severed Ties with Toxic Femininity
Chopping off my own hair was my first act of gender expression and heteronormative resistance
I decided to make the “big chop” when my parents and I ran into a typical 14-year-old boy from my grade at the main store in town, a dollar store. As my parents pilfered through People magazine in the checkout lines searching for some celebrity to condemn, I stood back and watched this boy two aisles down. His highlighter orange undershirt strained against the last of his baby fat, but as I overheard his buddies cracking dirty jokes, I knew it was only a matter of time before his childish frame gave way to a man like any other in our backwoods town. It was the summer before my freshman year of high school and I was ready for change.
Dressed in a black clingy blouse and a black miniskirt, with a swipe of red glistening on my lips — I was the embodiment of femininity. The boy said nothing when he saw me doing my best impression of a bored, sexy woman from the movies. Still, I could trace his gaze from the hem of my skirt, to the twirl of my long chestnut hair around my finger.
I didn’t hate him for it. This was what boys were supposed to do. It was an unspoken rule. Despite its mundanity, I recoiled inward as I noticed how my behavior changed under…
