When I was three or four years old, I was in my first movie: Cousins, starring Ted Danson and Isabella Rossellini. I remember falling in love with the industry, partially because of the craft service table and the direct access to free candy, but also because I could play and create, imagine and connect. I felt accepted.
That love stayed with me, so a few years later, around eight years old, my parents sent my headshot in for an audition. But the casting directors said they didn't want to see me because I didn't look like the character description of “young girl.” Sure, I’d been doing a lot of gymnastics, and I was a little more muscular than other girls my age, but I didn't understand. I was young; I was a girl. Why couldn't I audition? When my parents asked them for an explanation, they were told, “She doesn’t fit into the physical mold people seen as a pretty, young woman. That will make it very difficult to cast her in any future projects."
It was really hard to face the fact that something I loved, something I felt was a huge expression of who I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually, had rejected me. It took me a long time to learn that my rejection had been completely based on what I looked like—and nothing to do with who I actually was. This was one of the first times in my life I felt self-conscious.
The second time was when I was 11. I asked my dad if I could cut off all my hair, and I got close to convincing him too. I remember trying out my adolescent negotiating skills: "How about an undercut then?” Long pause. “Maybe a mohawk?”
He agreed I could cut it, but insisted the shortest I could go was a pixie cut (which was still pretty radical in those days). At the hair salon the picture we used for inspiration was of Winona Ryder in Little Women. I think, consciously or unconsciously, everyone wanted to make sure I still looked like a “little woman.” As they were cutting my hair, I remember thinking, Do young girls have to have long, flowing hair and wear pretty pastel dresses like all of the princesses in the movies I watch? I was stocky and muscular and insisted that the theme of my birthday be softball, after my favorite movie, A League of Their Own. But I was still a young girl—cutting my hair off didn't change that…right?
I guess what I was asking at that young age was: Does the length of my hair determine the perception of me as feminine or masculine? And in whose eyes? Yours? Mine? Society's?
I found out pretty quickly that by cutting my hair short, I was challenging the vision of what others thought I should be.
But I found out pretty quickly that by cutting my hair short, I was challenging the vision of what others thought I should be. For example, I was at a track meet a few months later, and a pretty girl from an opposing school came up to me and said, "My friend thinks you're cute." No boys ever thought I was cute, so this was a big moment for me. I felt my face go hot as I looked up into the stands and tried to guess which guy was her friend. I asked, with a huge smile, "What's his name?" "Her name is Sarah," she answered. We both stood there silent for a second, and I felt her gaze go from the top of my head to bottom of my brand new white tearaway pants. That's when she realized. "Oh my God, you're a girl," she shouted. "Why would you do that to yourself? Ew!" She ran away, screaming and laughing, back to her friends. I saw the story pass from clique to clique as people pointed and laughed. I felt self-conscious, so I ran that day—not in the school race but straight to my home. I knew I never wanted to feel that way again, so I vowed I would change.
