Why Hair and Makeup Are So Important to Me As a Deaf Woman

Dove Hair research found that eight in 10 women feel pressure to wear their hair a certain way. In order to break down the beauty standards that prevent women from loving their hair—and celebrate all hair types—Glamour and Dove have partnered to replace models and celebrities with real women in hair stories. Discover more about Dove’s mission on Pinterest.

"Excuse me, miss?" It took me a moment to realize the receptionist was speaking to me, and by that point she must have said it at least twice, if not three times.
I had already stepped forward and given her my name before I figured out she was trying to tell me to go to the woman next to her to sign in for my doctor's visit.I braced myself for an awkward conversation as I sat down at the neighboring desk, but this receptionist didn't have to catch my attention. Instead, she smiled pleasantly and said, "Oh, you look cute. I like your hair." I relaxed instantly. We chatted briefly about hair bleach, and when it was time to get down to business, I had no problem lip-reading her well enough to answer her questions about my insurance.
Starting a conversation with a stranger can be terrifying to me, regardless of where I am. Even without my hearing loss, I'm quite shy naturally. So when I realized my appearance could be a conversation-starter, I ran with it. Someone will mention my hair or ask, "What is your lipstick?" and with that, the ice is broken and I can follow the conversation as it goes. Whatever I don't hear after that, I can guess through context and body language. But it took me a long time to get to this point.

The writer's lipstick collection. Her current favorite is NYX Wicked Lippie in Wrath, a metallic copper shade (standing between the gold and yellow) that brings the drama.

I was first diagnosed with an unexplained, progressive hearing loss in both ears when I was five. I spent the rest of grade school taking regular speech, lip-reading, and sign language lessons while attending classes with hearing peers. My hearing continued to get worse over the years, but there was no easy solution. Hearing aids helped so little that once I went to college, I stopped wearing them altogether. And I was loath to give up what little natural hearing I had left for a mechanical substitution like a cochlear implant. So I simply learned how to cope.
Deafness truly pervades your life. It affects your routines, your social life, even your personality. Imagine if you were suddenly living in a country where you don't speak the language. Think about what it would be like to go to the movies or if you were trying to get a job. It's hard not to feel shut out and embarrassed when you're struggling to communicate with the world around you.That's why back when I was in high school and college, I embraced my loner status. I dressed to blend into the background, in a hoodie and jeans and a ponytail, and I kept my nose in a book at all times. But it's tiring when you're constantly willing yourself to be invisible. And after graduating college, that all changed: I became a fashion and beauty writer. I was freelancing for a women's media outlet that had just launched a beauty-focused sister site, and I was shocked when it agreed to run an article on how I styled my hair. From there, I continued to write about my novice experiments with hair and makeup.

This unexpected career path led to a transformation. I taught myself how to apply makeup properly and began to amass brightly colored lipsticks. I experimented with my pixie cut: bleaching it from mousy brown to platinum blond, shaving an undercut; I even shaved my entire head at one point. Fueled by my fashion writing, I started wearing clothing that could easily be described as "attention-seeking," like a long green leather trench coat, five-inch striped wedges, and a T-shirt that loudly proclaims my love for Mindy Kaling.It used to make me angry when people introduced me as, "This is Kelly; she's deaf." I didn't want that to be my entire identity. Like every person, I'm multifaceted. My disability might have shaped me, but it doesn't define me. I finally took control of it, choosing instead to be the girl with the bleach-blond hair or the wacky outfits. The deafness can come up later, organically, as just one more fact about me instead of the fact.Sure, some days I tone it down. Today I'm wearing neutral makeup and the next closest thing to sweatpants because I came to Starbucks to write, not to talk to anyone. But if I know I'll be forced to interact with people, like at a party or even at the doctor's office, I put extra thought into my appearance. First impressions really are important, and I'm careful to make mine extremely visual. It's not about vanity—it's about making my personality larger than my disability. I can't control that I have a deaf accent or that I'm going to make you repeat yourself a lot, but I can make sure that's not the only thing you remember about me. Even if that's just my hair.