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� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.

�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.

�hates: Microsoft. Obviously.

�reads:
secret-motel
artgnome
enfinblue
stepfordtart
ten-oclock
boombasticat
lawliiet
annanotbob
fifidellabon
my-serenade

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

Hair
9:53 a.m. -- 2008-09-02

I really like my hair at the moment.

What's this? A person on Diaryland who's happy about some aspect of themselves? Expel him at once!

But I am. Happy with my hair. Apart from the fact that so much of it seems to have given up growing on the top of my head, and is doing its best to grow out of my ears and nose instead.

Still... It's nice and short. So short that it doesn't really need any sort of style. Just a vague brushing to ensure uniformity, and I'm done. It hasn't seen a hairdryer in years.

Short hair is great when you're travelling. (Which I'm not right now, but you never know...) I've undertaken some seriously long journeys in my time. I mean not quite Phileas Fogg* journeys, but trips through mile after mile of forest, desert or tundra, and no shower for hundreds of miles in any direction. That would have driven me insane back when my hair was long enough to become lank and floppy.

When I was at the height of my tranny powers - in the mid-1990s - my dark, straight hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob. I was aiming for Naomi Watts' look when she played the sidekick in 'Tank Girl'.



I don't think a part-time girl needs a proper, three-dimensional role model who cares about world peace and all that stuff... not that Hollywood consists of genuine people anyway. There might be something significant about my choosing to look like this character, though. She's the bewildered, slightly off-balance but ultimately faithful friend, not given to the excesses of the main character. Plus she has a kind of 'plain Jane' transformation within the film. She's ordinary, but she's also gorgeous at times. So... she was my role model, back in the day**.

No 'dressed' pictures of me from that era survive. I destroyed the negatives, too. (Remember film? How quaint was that?)

Fortunately, I had already passed beyond my Jet Girl phase and gone for a much more masculine look before my hair it started its disappearing act. And now there's no possibility of anything but short hair. There's nothing quite so pathetic as a comb-over, is there? Unless it's one of those baldie-with-a-pony-tail jobs. Ick.

Nowadays, I think my hair is getting shaggy when it reaches twenty millimetres. You get change out of a tenner when you have a minimalist haircut like mine... so it doesn't break the bank to keep it tidy. Short hair is great in martial arts, too. One less thing to get grabbed by. Although the ears present a handy and no less painful alternative.

Ultimately, if I start looking too much like a medieval monk, it'll all have to go. Bzzzt! That will be a bit odd, because a shaven head still has so many negative connotations... but I'm not so bothered that I'll pay thousands of pounds for questionable 'cures' for baldness, and there's no way I'm going to wear a wig. At least, not as a male.

As a part-time female... well, all I can say is that I don't own a wig, and I doubt I'm about to get one. If I was still cross-dressing frequently, and going out, then I suppose I'd have to.

If I could still grow my hair long, would I? Hell no. All that messing about with hair care products and carefully fastening it back on windy days or for working with machinery... nah. Been there, done that.

Short hair is part of who I am now; no regrets.




* Phileas Fogg was a character in a novel by Jools Holland and Verne Langdon, I think...

** Which was a Thursday.

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