So this morning, I went to the salon to get my hair dyed and cut. I decided to try out an Aveda salon about 20 minutes from our house. It had to be an Aveda salon because the last dye job I had was from an Aveda salon and it held nicely, didn’t stink too much, and their products are fairly “green”.
I met with the stylist. She was younger and had one of those really hip, edgy hair styles. Judging from the way she put her outfit together, she definitely wanted to stand out from a crowd. I can respect this. I used to do this when I was younger and I can admire this quality.
As we spoke about what my expectations were and I was describing what I wanted, “to have less layers and maybe take the length to about my chin”, she said, “Oh yes, the bob is very D.C. soccer mom and very ‘in’ among them.”
I paused. I think I even looked mortified and gulped.
Smile, La Folle. Smile and say something.
“Oh, well. Okay.”
Not really the sentiment I was yearning to express.
I was thinking, “I’M NOT A SOCCER MOM!” I was thinking, “I WAS OUT CLUBBING AND GOING TO RAVES WHEN YOU WERE IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL!” I was thinking, “YOU PROBABLY HAVEN’T NOTICED THE HOLE IN MY BOTTOM LIP THAT HAS CLOSED UP OR THE HALF DOZEN EARRING HOLES!” I was thinking, “I’M COOOL.”
Or am I? Does it even matter? Should I even be trying at this point?
I was seriously bothered by this. As I left, the words “D.C. soccer mom” kept running through my head. I opened the door of my “crossover” SUV, hopped inside and turned on the engine. Suddenly, my stereo blaring BT’s Emotional Technology didn’t seem so hip. Suddenly, I felt very OLD.
Maybe I should switch to Van Morrison. No, wait, screw that, Renegade Soundwave. HA!
I drove home with a very uneasy feeling and questions about my very identity. In college, I was an “out and about” type of girl. I wore baggy pants, cute little tight T-shirts that showed a little belly and used glitter on my face. Yes. Glitter.
The weekend started on Thursday, sometimes Wednesday and lasted until Monday morning. I can recall a conversation I had with the people I hung out with then (none of whom I know or would even know how to get a hold of now). The conversation was about how I wasn’t going to drive a Volvo. I wasn’t going to succumb to a job where I’d need to lose my identity (i.e. let the lip ring hole close up). I’D GET A JOB WHERE THAT WAS ACCEPTABLE.
Let’s face it. There are few well-paying jobs out there where this is acceptable. Unless you’re an extremely talented artist (visually or musically) or work for a very liberal company (which is practically impossible to find in this area), you have to conform. I worked for two different government consulting agencies since graduating from college, for pete’s sake. They wouldn’t have taken kindly to my lip ring. I remember struggling to let it go, too. One day I just resigned that part of my life was over and put the rings into a bag with other items we donated to Goodwill.
Did I choose money over my true self? Am I a “sell out”? Or have I just morphed into what I’m really meant to be?
Madonna is a mom. Madonna still dances. She’s changed her image a million times. Yeah, maybe I’m morphing like Madonna has time and time again all of these years. Only I’m morphing into what my environment and my child requires. A socially aware mother providing a stable environment. Is that so wrong?
I think if there’s one thing I’ve learned from pop culture and the generations before us who have shaped it, it’s that the idea of “live free, die young” is no longer a real goal. Maybe the “leave a nice looking corpse” part still is with the botox and plastic surgery craze, but at least, it’s acceptable to be older with children and still listen to new music, dance and do things that our parents wouldn’t have considered doing.
In the end, I really like my new “soccer mom” longish bob. It will be easy to style and yes, I think it fits my identity. The one I own now, Mommy, Wife and HOPEFULLY, MILF. Hehe. 
