The Bald Woman in Mass Culture

Hair is ideologically loaded with gendered relations of power. The socio-political implications of the female shaved head are complex and nuanced, with no single reading available at any given moment. The presence of hair on women can indicate many characteristics, including age, economic standing, intellect, marital status or religious considerations (Koppelman); but more relevant to heteronormative female gender, it can represent beauty, “femininity”, and vanity (This Magazine). While hair is embedded with race-, class-, and sex-based significance, the absence of hair on the female body is a jarring upset to the white, heteronormative collective. Female baldness is largely perceived as a boycott of demands on beauty, but can also represent punishment, illness and/or rebellion (Koppelman). Cultural representations of women with shaved heads are rich with meaning, and changes in these representations over time indicate parallel shifts in social perceptions. In order to locate the most mainstream and widely held public perceptions of women with bald heads, mass culture—otherwise known as popular culture—serves as a critical tool in analyzing values that drive mass consumption, and includes media such as radio, movies, comic books, detective stories, science fiction, and television (Macdonald). The films G.I. JANE and V for Vendetta will guide the discussion of changing portrayals and perceptions of the female shaved head, utilizing other supplemental materials from mass culture as well.

Although both films are highly political and militaristic, and respective female protagonists undergo intense periods of transformation accompanied by the loss of their hair, G.I. JANE and V for Vendetta assign different meanings to the shaved head, reflecting changes in mainstream perceptions that are, despite the possibility of progress over time, ultimately less challenging of traditional and gendered relations of power. In G.I. JANE (1997), Lt. O’Neil shaves her head to mark her transformation from feminine to masculine, highlighting her degradation as a female and access to military resources only as a man. In V for Vendetta (2005), Evey Hammond suffers the loss of her hair in a feigned prison bout, calculated to challenge her fear and political paralysis—undoubtedly commingled with her femininity—and although she is able to achieve fearlessness, she never achieves revolutionary agency. While in G.I. JANE, hair operates as an ultimate indicator of gender, in V for Vendetta, hair does not determine masculinity or femininity.

G.I. JANE

Viewed in harmony, the complexities of sex, gender, sexuality, and race unfold to highlight Lt. O’Neil’s transition from a white, straight, female to a white, straight man in the film G.I. JANE. O’Neil (Demi Moore) first arrives in SEAL training with her hair in a bun, is placed in separate quarters, and undergoes training as an “other.” Her frustrations culminate to a point of intolerance, where she demands equal treatment. It is at this moment the audience watches O’Neil shave her own head, do one-armed push ups, and share both private and public space with males. While in the beginning the other men were bothered by her tampons, later the audience watches as the doctor explains O’Neil’s onset of amenorrhea. While early on in the film, the audience understands white, male military power through the phallic cigar-smoking tendencies of men in uniform, by the time O’Neil is dismissed for being too successful—and therefore too masculine—she too smokes a cigar on the patio. Accordingly, this is a film about privilege—who has it, who does not, and why. G.I. JANE presents itself as a movie about men and women, but it is really about white, heteronormative men and women. It is a particular version of maleness that has the privilege and power of the United States military, and only a particular version of femaleness can dare take on a phallus, become male, and win inclusion. Abandoning her hair is the primary way in which Lt. O’Neil accomplishes this.

As soon as G.I. JANE begins, it both complicates and confirms traditional ideas of power and politics. The film revolves around the arrangements of Senator Lillian DeHaven, who is able to secure the spot of one female to undergo Navy SEAL training, with the understanding that if the trial woman passes, the training will become open to women in general. The Senator is marked by her strong personality, her tough politics, and her no-bullshit demeanor—culturally hailed as male aggression. Thus, her whiteness and her masculine approach grant her access to power, but at the same time, the audience is constantly reminded that the Senator is a woman. In one scene, DeHaven primps her hair in the mirror, while in another she is getting it colored. Accordingly, the implications of female political power must be subdued by reminders that DeHaven is in fact woman and therefore, never a man. Interestingly, the trope for the Senator’s femaleness—her hair—operates to further dramatize the famous head-shaving scene of Lieutenant O’Neil and mark her transformation from feminine to masculine.

While gender and sexuality are dominant themes in the movie, the significance of genitals are powerful in Lt. O’Neil’s transformation and supplement O’Neil’s loss of hair in establishing her masculinty. After O’Neil makes her transition into maleness, she is able to shift the power dynamic with her superior in an intense physical fight by saying, “suck my dick.” Her previously disapproving comrades cheer her on, revealing two factors: primarily, O’Neil now legitimately has a dick, because she has lost her hair and become a man. Secondly, a man sucking another man’s dick is the greatest insult. After this triumphant moment of O’Neil’s enactment of brother humiliation, she is now invited out for beers with the men. Because hair can function as a source of identity among members of a group, O’Neil has physically won her way in with the guys (Synnott). Therefore, her hair serves as a critical precondition to her inclusion in male camaraderie, and O’Neil is able to manipulate her hair to achieve power (Weitz). Although the meaning of Lt. O’Neil’s hair is more traditional in that lack of her signifies masculinity, the message of the film in regard to gendered relations of power is ultimately more radical because O’Neil’s gender is not fixed and she is able to transcend her femininity and hold power as a male.

V for Vendetta

Released almost a decade after G.I. JANE, V for Vendetta is more traditional in its reading of female baldness, despite its image as a politically radical film with explicit critique of homophobia (while G.I. JANE merely accepts and perpetuates homophobic discourse). Setting the stage for the final message, Evey explains as the film begins, “It is not an idea I miss—it is a man. A man that made me remember the fifth of November”—alluding that Evey’s political awareness, participation in revolt, and belief in freedom are mediated through V. Thus, her access to resources of personal growth are channeled through the male. Her diction is relevant, as Evey does not miss a person—she misses a man, and her sex-based differentiation highlights the explicit division of men and women throughout the film, as well as the exclusion of women in positions of authority (except for one female doctor who, in the end, is the only person on V’s revenge list to have lived a life of misery and remorse).

While in G.I. JANE, Lt. O’Neil’s voluntarily shaved head marks her in-group identity and allows her to become masculine, Evey’s forced head shave is an act of punishment which characterizes a period of intense personal growth—but never stimulates any revolutionary autonomy in Evey herself. Unlike Lt. O’Neil, Evey does not become like a man wielding authority, she remains a woman who, although becomes fearless, holds no real power. More importantly, Evey’s portrayal as a heroine in the film is misleading because—while she does grow and learn that some things are more important than life, she does not understand that V’s plan to restore freedom is greater than his life. Evey is actually counter-revolutionary when she implores V towards the end of the film to escape with her rather than carry out his plot. Overcome with emotion and love, Evey continues to embody culturally praised, heteronormative femininity, despite her lack of hair. While she finally commits one empowering act—pulling the lever on a train to send explosives to parliament—this was all at the orchestration and request of V. Therefore, Evey’s only access to revolutionary agency is mediated through V. Furthermore, it is unclear whether Evey pulls the lever for the cause, or in honor of V, who is dead by this point. Although the film is progressive in that Evey can be a woman without hair, she is never a woman with power, nor does she become masculine to take it.

The juxtaposition of men and women create firm identities for each, with hair functioning as an accessory, but never an ultimate indicator of gender. Evey and V are introduced to the viewer for the first time in distinct sexual opposition to one another. The audience meets Evey in a black bra putting on lipstick, after which the scene switches to V who is adjusting his mask and weapon-related gear. As Evey makes her way through the city at night, she is confronted by fingermen (fascist police), who use their patriarchal power of state over Evey’s body, offering rape as punishment for her curfew break. Vulnerable to exploitation and void of measures of feasible resistance, Evey is paralyzed by her own “femininity,” soon to be rescued by the opposite of male tyranny, a male revolutionary. In either case, the power-brokers are men, and Evey is subject to their whim. Hair is not relevant to power, because while both V and Evey have long hair, only V is powerful. That is to say, masculinity and femininity are more than just hair in the film.

While hair is not essential in maintaining femininity, it is still very meaningful to Evey. Unlike Lt. O’Neil, who willfully shaves her head and takes ownership of her baldness, Evey cries as her hair is buzzed in an act of punishment and dehumanization (Sentient Developments). Throughout the film, the division of men and women, the emphasis on Evey’s femininity by portraying her as sexy and sexually desired, and Evey’s subsequent categorical belonging to “female,” creates such cultural meaning around her hair that, in response to learning that V orchestrated her torture, she questions in disbelief, “You cut my hair? You tortured me?” Her language and order of delivery are powerful because they posit the destruction of her feminine identity as more hurtful and ridiculous than the destruction of her physical body. Thus, despite her newly-gained transcendence of fear, the loss of hair remains a humiliating act, revealing just how deeply revered gender conformity is, as well as the gendered symbolism of hair.

V for Vendetta can be seen as a more progressive reading of the female shaved head because Evey is still feminine after she loses her hair, and thus femaleness is stretched to include more women. Watching as Evey returns to see V for the last time, the audience does not know where she has been or what she has been doing—only that she has survived. The viewer understands her strength, but sees her return in a skirt and delicate v-neck, button-down sweater. Despite her changes, the audience must not forget that she is female, and she is in opposition to maleness. V for Vendetta may be more progressive in its reading of the bald female head, but the ultimate message of the film is more traditional, because Evey is distinctly marked as female and never holds power—and she never transcends her femininity to gain power. Thus, her femaleness is still equated with powerlessness.

Public Reaction

Public reactions to the films are indicative of their ultimately radical versus traditional messages. Critic Jerry O’Brien claimed that G.I. JANE is an “insult to all of the men who achieved their SEAL badges when you imply a woman can do it,” and that training will be “lightened” because of the film (Twohy). O’Brien’s fear is telling because his concern blatantly contradicts the point of the film— O’Neil must compete with the physical capabilities of the men around her, and she does not accept differential treatment. His comments indicate a deep-seated phobia of women entering, and therefore jeopardizing and weakening, male space, the implication of femininity as insulting, as well as the belief that women are inherently weak and unable to compete physically with men. Natalie Portman reaps quite the opposite. Despite the profound socio-political commentary embedded in the film, Portman’s head is the main talking point, and in the process, became both tokenized and sexualized. What Portman’s head looked like was of larger interest than what it meant—perhaps because it really meant nothing in the film.

While G.I. Jane kindled anxieties revolving around essentialist views of men and women, V for Vendetta simply focused on Natalie’s head—revealing that G.I. Jane is perceived as a more radical film because a female usurps male power, not by virtue of a bald head alone. V for Vendetta is received more smoothly because, although it contains far-reaching political commentary, the roles of men and women are not challenged. Interestingly, although female power operates more radically in G.I. JANE, the meaning attached to the female bald head is more traditional in that a shaved head is automatically masculine. To the contrary, female power and gender roles operate according to a traditional script in V for Vendetta, but the meaning attached to the female bald head is more progressive in that it can still be feminine. Because of the latter in both instances, popular culture has become more tolerant and inclusive of female shaved heads, although the ultimate portrayal of femaleness as powerless remains the same.

What does this mean in terms of the female shaved head in relation to power in mass culture, and therefore in popular consciousness? Are there ways in which expanding femininity to include appropriately enacted female baldness can also expand female power? Both G.I. JANE and V for Vendetta portray femininity as ultimately without power—although being considered a legitimate female is a source of privilege, and therefore is a form of power in that it gives legitimate women access to powerful men. In so far as female privilege is accessed through sexuality and femininity, and the female shaved head under certain circumstances has now become sexual and feminine—V for Vendetta does imply more power for women. However, in so far as access to power remains contingent upon sexual appeal and femininity, and therefore does not challenge the pervasive existence of female power by mere virtue of sexuality and only in opposition to other male sources (the state, military, police, et cetera) of power—V for Vendetta does not reflect expanding power allocated to women through time. Based on the latter concept of power, V for Vendetta actually regresses from the cultural accomplishments of G.I. JANE, which grants women access to an alternate source of power—traditionally male (military) power. While the basis for achieving female privilege may be widened in V for Vendetta by proclaiming the bald head feminine, the source of female privilege and its roots in sexism are never challenged.

Beyond the Films

In so far as Lt. O’Neil actually becomes masculine and possesses power, G.I. JANE is more radical than V for Vendetta. V for Vendetta reveals more ways to look like a woman, but still gives the power to men. That Evey Hammond’s bald head is an acceptable form of femaleness is mirrored in the real life experience of actress Natalie Portman, who is heralded as beautiful with or without hair. The exotification of the female shaved head can also be seen on America’s Next Top Model, where Tyra Banks claims that bald women must use their facial features—and therefore not rely on their hair—to make them feminine and sexy (This Magazine). At the same time, most women, like Evey, cry upon undergoing the shave. Implicit in this cultural commentary is the fact that achieving femininity is compilation of performances and behaviors that can be enhanced by, but are not solely dependent upon, hair. Furthermore, if enacted properly, the female shaved head can accentuate a woman’s beauty. Cosmetologist Hosea Hicks concedes that while hair can be trendy, lack of hair can be a style in and of itself (Hicks). While a seminar offering beauty techniques for cancer patients concedes that bald women can still be fashionable, it also teaches women how to scarve their bald heads (Caustro). Therefore, a bare female head can be beautiful, but it is also still threatening for some women.

But the bald head is still not safe. Britney Spear’s buzz captivated the nation, with the public equating Britney’s shaved head with a psychotic breakdown. That Britney removed her own hair during a time of personal duress positions the female shaved head as a pathological, compulsive, or otherwise irrational and unsubstantiated action. Such cultural understandings are made clear in Allure Magazine’s May 2007 issue, which included shaved heads in a laundry list of “beauty breakdowns” (The Colonic). The cultural battle wages on, with allegations of feminine degeneracy being challenged and analyzed by informal cultural mediums such as blogs and Facebook groups, and by recent films and television shows in popular culture.

Bibliography

“Allure Magazine is Gravely Mistaken.” The Colonic. May 2007. October 2007<http://thecolonic.blogspot.com/2007/05/allure-magazine-is-gravely-mistaken.html

“Bald As I Wanna Be.” This Magazine. 2006. Oct. 2007 <http://www.thismagazine.ca/issues/2006/05/back_bald.php>

Caustro, Paddy. Seminars Offer Beauty Techniques for Cancer Patients. Los Angeles Times 24 Feb. 1989: 4

Hicks, Hosea. “What Hair Is.” Columbus Times 14-20 Sep. 2006: 9

“I’ve Seen the Future and the Future is Bald.” Sentient Developments. 2006. 26 Oct. 2007< http://sentientdevelopments.blogspot.com/2006/04/ive-seen-future-and-future-is-bald.html>

Koppelman, Connie. “The Politics of Hair.” Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies 17.2 (1996): 87-88.

Macdonald, Dwight. Mass Culture: The Popular Arts in America. New York: The Free Press, 1957.

Synnott, Anthony. “Shame and Glory: A Sociology of Hair.” The British Journal of Sociology 38.3 (1987): 381-413.

Twohy, David. “No ‘Gender-Norming’ in ‘G.I. Jane.’” Los Angeles Times 15 Sep. 1997: 3