You’re Hot

02/02/24

I had a very pleasant jolt today, tinged with some sad, but y’know – little wins.

Today was haircut day.

Haircut day has been special to me for some 25 years, since I discovered Jonty, the Hair God.

He is top tier skilled with colour and cut.

I never, ever tell him specifically what I want. I’ll give guidance; letting him know what did and did not work for me with the previous cut. I may indicate vague colour preferences (a bit warmer; a wild colour; two contrasting colours etc).

But ultimately, I want to be surprised by the end result, like a mini makeover, and I trust him implicitly. He’s never disappointed me.

He’s also top tier skilled in client therapy.

Over the years, we’ve got to know each other pretty well; he knows when to joke, when to comfort, when to advise, and when to tease. He’s like a really good big brother.

A visit to his salon never fails to leave me joyful and bouncing with confidence.

In the spirit of the honesty I promised in these pages:

The estranged husband (EH) would pop that bubble within minutes.

When we first met, he was all wowed by my stylish hair.

For the last goodness knows how long, he’s crushed the happiness of haircut day by being angry, resentful and moody.

It would be about giving me lifts there, about dinner being late because of the time it takes to get my hair done, about missing going out cycling, about whatever…but always something.

Bear in mind, this is a once every six weeks event. Not exactly taking over his life.

For whatever, known only to the EH, reason, since he walked out, he’s persistently said to let him know when my next appointment was so he could give me a lift.

I know. What the fuck, right?

Well, beggars can’t be choosers – getting a lift will save me £20 in taxi fares. I’m not flush enough to think that’s inconsequential. So I accepted the lift.

Part of haircut day tradition is that I sent out some photos, while I’m still in salon polished condition.

When the EH dropped me off for the appointment he said I should send him a picture afterwards. So I did.

I also sent the same to Altan, Lena, and mother.

The EH was underwhelming, and sadly predictable, with his, “That’s nice” response.

Lena and mother were equally predictable in their “Lovely, it suits you” responses.

Altan responded with an unequivocally enthusiastic, “Wow, you look HOT!!“

That’s what gave me the jolt.

I don’t think of myself like that.

I have no idea how long it is since I thought someone else saw me as hot. And I’ve been married for the last twenty years.

How sad is that?

All the sexy underwear I’d been buying in recent years. All the changes to hair and effort with appearance that I’d been making.

My own husband, the person who I was doing it for, could barely manage to look up from his phone long enough to mumble, “That’s nice“.

And that only if prompted.

The EH made me feel undesirable.

There’s a reason I trust Altan with my soul – he never fails to feed it.

He doesn’t see me as a middle aged, dried up, frump, nor does he make me feel that way.

He literally drew me a picture (he’s very talented artistically) to help me to see the woman he sees. It’s been a bit crazy for me.

Altan sees me now as who I used to pretend to be when I was younger.

Intelligent. Beautiful. Strong. Sassy. Hot.

I thought even the facsimile of those aspects of me were gone forever – aged out.

Altan’s prodded parts of me out of hibernation, or at least let them know that winter’s on the wane.

Intelligent: I’ll take it. I’m no genius, but I’m not wilfully ignorant and I thirst knowledge.

Beautiful: I think that’s pushing it. I have, in the past, described myself as ‘not vomit inducingly ugly‘; I still stand by that.

In fact, I’d say, on my best days, ‘reasonably pleasant to look at‘, is my league.

But I’m willing to go with the eye of the beholder on this. At least I know there’s one person in the world who sees me as beautiful.

Strong: Yeah. Hmmm. Cerebrally I know this can be true of me. I mean, I’ve been hit with some heavy duty shit in my life, and here I still am.

Right now though, emotionally, I feel weak and drained and fearful.

So jury’s out on that one.

Sassy: D’you know what springs to mind for me with this word? The scene in Some Like it Hot, where you see a rear view of Marilyn Monroe walking down the train platform… that walk is sassy!

However, what Altan meant was sassy characteristics; being bold, spirited, not afraid to express oneself.

It’s the dream, not the reality.

Hot: I think my naked body leaves a lot to be desired. Rapid, stress induced, weight loss does no favours for an already slim body.

And then there’s the ‘war wounds’ – the stretch marks and scars resulting from life experiences. I’m not grossed out by them or anything, however I struggle to believe that others wouldn’t be.

It’s hard to explain, but I sort of feel that someone who wasn’t around while these marks were formed (during the pregnancies, the operations, the accidents etc.), would find them a bit off putting.

Like, the life partners who went through the experiences alongside me were sort of emotionally connected/invested in these marks on my body. A new person wouldn’t be.

Anyway, Altan’s not seen my naked body, and wasn’t referring to it with his ‘hot’ comment. He was talking about my hairstyle, and within that, my face.

I absolutely agree with him that the cut and colour of this style is really flattering, and takes years off my face.

However, there’s still too many years on my face for me to view the reflection in the mirror as ‘hot’.

So, I struggle a little with full acceptance of the compliments.

However, for the first time in many, many years, I do feel feminine.

I like it, and it’s certainly a positive thing.

Grasping the tail of this, and hitching a ride, I’ve decided to start putting some proper effort into face and body care.

I’m not going to set any specific targets, just start doing some basics regularly.

Some exfoliating, daily moisturiser, nutritional supplements etc., to help my poor, dehydrated skin.

Aside from protein shakes and smoothies, eat something solid every day, and keep it down. Doesn’t matter what it is right now, just something each day to stop the weight falling off me. The weight regain is something future Jess can look at.

That’s as much as I can commit to right now.

As I’ve said, there’s no end targets in there – way too much pressure – but I do think it would be good to have some way of seeing any positive changes.

With this in mind I’ve taken some photos of my unmade up face, and underwear clad body. I’ll now have something better than memory for comparison in a few month’s time.

And it will be months from now. The photo thing won’t be obsessive. Pinkie promise that.

In the meantime, I can do these very small things, which in a miniscule way help me towards becoming more not less.

JP