“I miss your long hair.”

Letterpress printed linocut. Signed & numbered limited edition of 150. 

Image area 3.75" x 5.5" printed on 5.5" x 8.5" acid free Mohawk Via paper.

Completed January 2019.

About the print

After cutting my hair for donation my partner at the time would often look at me and say, “I miss your long hair.” It was my hair, my decision, and my intention. And it came as a surprise to me that he was so possessive of my hair and my appearance. His repeated vocalization of this constant longing and refusal to accept the change and my decision reflected limitations in his view of what his girlfriend should look like.

I had betrayed him. It was a hardship for him to have a girlfriend with short hair. It was wrong of me to cut it. He could not reconcile that it was my body. He couldn’t reconcile that the decision I made to cut my hair was intended to challenge neither his attraction to me, nor his masculinity by forcing him, against his will, to date a woman with short hair. And it was his job to shame me for how I had trespassed against him.

“I miss your long hair.” is a response to the preceding print in the series, “You have nice hair. Why cut it all off?” Hair can be so tied to identity that the decision to cut one’s hair can sometimes be an emotional and cathartic act, one that can be deeply personal. The comments made by others in the aftermath of a significant change in appearance can often be met with a sense of longing for the memories of a version of a loved one from a different time. They can also be used as a means of control, reducing a haircut and one’s appearance to a careless, selfish decision made by the wearer, one made in haste to offend the sensibilities of those who prefer us to look a certain way. Whatever the reason to remove silken locks, I find that someone else’s hair is an odd thing to mourn.

About the Tomboy series

The Tomboy series addresses a lifetime of being perceived as "other" in a society entitled to the comfort of easily identifiable categories. Strangers assume the authority to pose personal questions, casually bypassing autonomy and privacy in order to satisfy their own intrusive curiosity. Because at a glance I cannot be easily identified as a male or female by some, others assert that I have given up my right to privacy because of my perceived dubious deception.

This intrusion is tied to suspicions of gender, sexuality, personality, and personal history that are suspected to deviate from an assumed acceptable binary/cis-hetero convention. Even seemingly well-meaning comments made by friends and loved ones echo a desire to control by claiming personal preferences, thereby placing restrictions on acceptable gender norms concerning appearance, language, confidence, mannerisms, and even occupation.

This ongoing series documents phrases I have collected from my interactions with strangers, coworkers, colleagues, family, friends, and loved ones. The phrases are paired with self-portraits that serve to illustrate or challenge these indelible and oftentimes upsetting, intrusive confrontations.

This image is copyright 2019 Mary Louise Sullivan. Purchase of this print does not transfer any rights to the image. This image may not be reused or reproduced in any way whatsoever.