Selected Cronicas

OLD-FASHIONED TASTES

Not so long ago I experienced an anguished sense of loss. Without giving the matter much thought, I made a sudden decision and told my hairdresser Luis Carlos to crop my hair. As he began cutting and locks of hair fell limply on to the floor, I looked in the mirror only to be confronted by an expression of alarm at my own rashness. And I experienced a sudden feeling of loss. Why loss? This feeling is so ancient that it recedes through the depths of time to a prehistoric age. A woman never cuts her hair because her femininity resides in those long tresses. Besides, when my boys were children they used to enjoy playing with my long hair. And recently when I visited a friend, her little girl who is five took great delight in endlessly combing my hair. There was something nice about the way those tiny hands communicated a sense of satisfaction. But now I had to accept having cropped hair and I promised myself that I would let it grow again. No sooner was I back home than I changed my mind. Long hair takes a long time to dry, it needs a lot of brushing and frequent visits to the hairdresser, where one has to endure the sheer torture of sitting underneath one of those absurd hair-dryers. Short hair, on the other hand, I can wash myself, then sit in the sun for a while and that is that. As I sat there daydreaming, I thought to myself: Have I lost my strength like Samson? Well, perhaps not my strength as such, but my power as a woman.