Let Down Your Hair Read Online Free Page A

Where they’re fooled into obsessing over diets and shoes to stop them from challenging male power. I lifted my chin, and tried to see their sneers as an opportunity. Maybe I could help these women escape The Male Gaze and embrace real power through feminism.
    “ Loving the look, by the way,” added Caitlin, closing in for the kill. Her friends giggled so hard that they almost toppled off their stilettos.
    My stomach caved in with shame. These women would die of laughter at the thought of learning anything from me. They were at the peak of their sexual power, and to them I was a loser and a joke.
    “Are you girls being bitchy?” asked Sumeet.
    I felt unsettled. On one hand, I didn’t want a man to protect me; on the other I was desperately glad he’d stepped in.
    “Us, Sumeet?” said Caitlin, in mock-wounded tones. “We’re never bitchy, are we, Kayla?”
    “ Never! ” said the woman in black pants.
    “Anyway,” said Caitlin, her perfect teeth glistening, “nice to meet you, Sage. Come sing with us later.” She sashayed away to a couch with a wave, and the other two followed behind.
    “Don’t listen to those girls,” said Sumeet. My hand dodged his reassuring pat. “They think looking pretty means they can act ugly.” He sounded kind, but his gaze scanned the legs of the three departing women in a way no man had ever looked at me.
    The last of my pride crumbled. “Is Jess here?” I asked, craving the reassurance of her admiring, dimpled face.
    “Oh yes. Here in body, but not in spirit, you might say. Or maybe in too many spirits. Let me show you.”
    He led me to a couch. Jess lay face down in a short red dress, her curly head joined at the lips to the man underneath her. All I could see of him was two denim-clad legs and a forehead edged with spiky blond hair.
    “Jess,” called Sumeet, “your friend Sage is here to see you.”
    Jess detached herself from the man and looked up. Her left cheek was smudged with mascara. “Sage!” She extracted the man’s hand from her top and clambered off him, engulfing me in a hug that smelled of hairspray and cocktails. “Thanks so much for coming!” Her voice was bright but unsteady.
    “Happy birthday!” I said to her right ear, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
    “My God , we need to sing something together! Shove over, Kurt.”
    I balanced myself on the very edge of the couch. Kurt got up with a grunt, yanked his shirt over the lump in his jeans and slouched in the direction of the bar.
    Jess draped one arm around my shoulder and picked up a plastic folder with the other. “How about some Madonna?”
    My spirits, which had begun to lift, stalled somewhere between my shoulder blades. “I don’t know any Madonna songs.” I’d read articles that called Madonna a twentieth century women’s icon, but I’d never heard any of her music.
    Jess gaped. “Not even ‘Like A Virgin’?”
    I shook my head. I’d never listened to commercial music. Bubblegum, Andrea called it. Disposable music for the masses to chew and spit out.
    Jess and Sumeet stared as if I’d come from another planet.
    “How about Rihanna? Or Adele?” said Sumeet hopefully.
    Withering under their saucer-eyed disbelief, I dropped my gaze to my hands. “Not really.”
    They listed artist after artist, and each time I shook my head my spirits sank a little further. I reminded myself that I knew plenty about important things, like politics and history and world poverty, and that pop music didn’t actually matter . But there on the orange couch, behind a giant folder of songs, it felt like the most important thing in the world.
    Ten crushing minutes later, Jess thrust the folder into my lap, told me to keep looking, and took Sumeet off to get drinks. Alone on the couch, I leafed through the greasy plastic pages. I found a handful of tracks I knew, but they were songs from Andrea’s time, two generations removed from the fluffy pop blaring from the speakers.
    I shoved the folder