It takes a certain countenance and attitude -- a certain type of person -- to really pull off dreads. This fact is compounded when that person happens to be a woman. It's a hairstyle that clashes with our flawed but prevalent notions of how a woman is supposed to look; it takes issue with the idea that women, being ostensibly more dainty, refined and clean than men, can't have "messy" hairdos.
A girl with dreads!? What next, hairy legs? Mustaches? Don't say it -- don't you even think it. Underarm hair. KABOOM! My head just exploded.
If you are reading this, you probably go to Tufts, so I'd say it is safe to assume you most likely don't think or act in accordance with every tired gender stereotype. That's not to say, however, that gender norms don't affect you. Like it or not, seeing a brother from 123 sporting a baby blue polo with a popped collar isn't like seeing a girl with dreads. The latter, somehow, is more jarring.
Enter sophomore Signe Porteshawver, the gamine dreadlocked girl with an air of mischief about her -- an air, you might say, of "knottiness."
And what a name. It pops right out from the page and gives the tongue some trouble if said aloud. I'd hate to be the teacher who, upon taking attendance on the first day of class, comes across "Porteshawver, Signe." Writing it up on the blackboard, I'd probably just point to it: "Anyone here named this?"
But as I listened to her pronounce it, I was impressed. I'm not exactly sure why. It's unlike any name I've heard before. So, it made sense when she told me that Porteshawver is actually a combination of her parents' last names. "My mom's a huge feminist," she added, correcting her posture.
And as she sat up and raised her chin in parody of feminist rigidity, I was struck by her all-encompassing luster; a sort of glow. You could say that I was feeling that the powers of the universe were at work here, that something uncanny and extraordinary was amidst us, so I asked, "Do you believe in magic?"
"Like, real magic? No, I'm a biology major," she said with a smirk. "I believe in experimentation."
So how long does it take a normal head of hair to turn into a serpentine masterpiece like hers? Is it a feat of magic or experimentation? "I didn't shower for two years," she said, so coolly, so naturally, that, for a moment, I believed her. "Wait, really?" I asked. "Ha ha. No," she said. "It took about two days. I just sectioned my hair off." Magic: 1, Experimentation: 0.
Often, I'll guess where people are from before asking. So what about the lady in dreads? Surely, some densely forested area where other willowy things reside lazily, listlessly listening to the leaves. Or maybe some free-loving sub-culture safe-haven where dreads hang as copiously as ash from the tips of marijuana cigarettes. San Francisco? Austin? Amsterdam?
Nope. None of the above: Davenport, Iowa. Cozily situated next to the Mississippi, Davenport is described by Signe as being not quite rural and not quite urban -- but plenty boring.
"In high school, I was straight stone-cold sober," she said, adding that most of the people at her high school weren't the sort that she'd like to carouse with. She didn't have dreads back home either. Hearing this, I was a little surprised. Mostly because I just can't imagine her without them.
But soon we'll all have to, for there is only one way to rid oneself of dreads. Oh yes, the buzz-cut. Like G.I. Jane, Natalie Portman and Ms. Spears before her, Signe will enter the annals of bold haircuts as she embraces that other hairstyle foreign in the realm of women. I have no doubt that it will be glorious -- a triumph -- and I wish her luck.
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Michael Goetzman is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Michael.Goetz aman@tufts.edu.
