How to Style the Hair of a Person Who Is Running Away From You
My daughter's hair is so pretty and she won't let me touch it
People often point out to me that my child is blonde. She’s “so blonde!” She’s “such a little blondie!” One old friend from my old life in New York commented that it looked like I’d stolen a child from Stockholm.
She’s got great hair. It’s fine and curls a little at the ends. When it’s been brushed, it falls naturally into a spirited little shoulder-length side-parted bob that swings when she turns her head quickly. It’s a hair color and style some women spend a great deal of time and money to attain. We have only had Juniper’s hair trimmed once; this is just how it grows, for now. Lucky duck.
On the playground, I was once asked if she was mine. I wasn’t offended; we don’t look much alike at first glance. I have dark hair. My siblings both have very dark hair. My parents both have dark hair. All four of my grandparents had dark hair. I couldn’t tell you the intricacies of how the genetics of hair color works, but I do know that 1- blonde is a recessive trait and 2- in order for my child to be blonde, she must have gotten at least one recessive gene from me in addition to the gene that she got from my once-tow-headed husband.
So when the hidden blonde gene made itself known and Juniper’s hair started coming in a sort of butter white-gold, I was excited. The novelty of brushing and braiding little girl hair that looked nothing like mine was another thing to look forward to amid the frequently under-stimulating morass of early childhood parenting. Maybe I’d finally learn how to French braid, or do little pigtails like the Kirsten American Girl doll. I’d get into creative bunmaking. Maybe I’d learn from some YouTube tutorials. She’d be one of those kids who always had a cool hairstyle.
Except the second I try to touch her hair for any reason, she acts like I’m trying to murder her. She shrieks when I try to brush her hair with a baby bristle brush. She screams when she gets her hair brushed with a regular brush. She cries when I wash her hair. She yells when I try to towel dry it. It doesn’t matter if I’m brushing it from a dry state, a wet state, or if I spray it with detangler first. I will tell her beforehand that I’m going to brush her hair and that it will only take five seconds, and then I will count to five while I’m doing it and cheerily say “All done!” at the end. She still screams.
I will hand her the brush and tell her to brush her hair. She will yell “ME NO BRUSH HAIR” and throw the brush. She will gently brush my hair while muttering “So beautiful.” She will not brush her own hair.
She’s got a weird thing about hair— When I put my hair in a ponytail or bun, she cries. “OUT! OUT! HAIR OUT!”
I will ask her how she wants her hair styled, giving her the “false choice” that parenting books say will help head off toddler contrarianism: “Do you want piggy tails or barrettes?” “I DON’T WANT PIGGY TAILS! I WANT PANCAKES” she’ll yell, and run away.
My dreams of little braids and ribbons and funny little high ponytails that only children can pull off have been dashed. My goal is no longer to give her the flyest hair on the playground; instead, it’s to have her leave the house every day not looking like a little Scandinavian Robert Smith of The Cure. Which is how her cute little bob looks after she’s spent a night sleeping on it.
I’ve learned a few things about how to style the hair of a person who acts like they’re being murdered when somebody touches their hair. First: sometimes you just have to learn to deal with a few seconds of high pitched yelling. I think of it a little bit like a Polar Bear Plunge– the first few moments are a bit of a shock, but it’s over quickly. Just take a deep breath and get through it.
Second, stealth, speed and accuracy are paramount. I often have one shot to put a clip into her hair, sniper-style, before she bolts away from me. If she sees me coming with a ribbon clip or little hair tie that was advertised as “no pulling, no tears!” (lol), she will run. Trying to get a good angle after she knows what I’m trying to do is a little bit like getting into a wrestling match with a raccoon.
If I’m trying to put her hair in pigtails, forget it. I have one chance per pigtail. They land where they land. This means that sometimes she’s got a pigtail in the northern hemisphere, and another one in the south.
I have reason to believe that she only acts like she hates having her hair done with me. Today she returned home from childcare wearing two perfectly symmetrical pigtails. Not a hair out of place.
“Where did you get your hair done?” I asked her as she paged through a picture book.
“At the library,” she said, not looking up. Then she began singing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes.”
Interesting. The library. A librarian, nanny, babysitter, or older kid did her hair, and she let them. Only two years old and she’s already hurting my feelings at an 11-year-old level.
Definitely know this battle. Our now 6 year old loves her pixie cut as a solution. First haircut not easy but now it’s fine.