I'm not your project

I had this epiphany today that a friend of mine is channeling my mother. She said something obnoxious--that the amount I spent on my haircut was "ridiculous." As with my mother, it wasn't the substance that annoyed me: I don't care what my mother thinks (about the darkness of my furniture; about the state of my skin; or about the price of my haircuts), and I don't care what this friend thinks. But I don't need unsolicited opinions about my spending, particularly from people with very different wants and needs. A year and a half or so ago, when she was still talking to me, mom couldn't believe I'd let myself go (financially) to the point of paying for a haircut. She cuts her own hair, she told me. She's also retired, I told her. As for the friend--not that it matters, but--she has a super-thin layers of hair. To restate/paraphrase what I was two Novembers ago:

I have a lot of f*ing hair and it is out of control. It's not for the weak or unskilled. Some people who will remain unmentioned have described it as "Hagrid hair." It's not something I can trim on my own.

My appearance is extremely low maintenance, and I manage that level of maintenance largely by paying it forward. I get a good haircut so I don't have to do anything with my hair. When you have as much hair as I have and when you find someone who does it well for (what I consider) a reasonable price, there's no reason to keep f*ing around. You pay for the haircut that simplifies your life for the next few months.

I tell you this not to defend my expenditure but to emphasize that my hair needs are different from my mom's hair needs and my friend's hair needs, and yet, they feel the need to comment on my choices. And neither limits her meddling, fueled by the corresponding lack of perspective, to matters of hair and money. Both of these people--though mom has given up on me--see me as as a project to remake in her own image. This is the friend who has more than once asked me why I don't wear makeup, and once put a bunch of it on me, thinking I'd see the error of my ways. Instead, having that $hit on my face reinforced the extent to which I hate having that $hit on my face. I couldn't wait to get it off. And I thought it made me look like a clown.

Both women have given me terrible dating advice. They've pretty much told me that being vegan makes me undatable and that men are not attracted to intelligence, and advised me to tone it down. This is a very, very common message in the dating-advice community, including from successful women. They've watched men shrink when they've told them about their jobs. "Don't say your a partner at a law firm; just say you work with attorneys." I $hit you not: they say that. How does this even apply to me? I'm not exactly a pioneering, enterprising business woman. If I'm intimidating men with my level of professional success, these guys are worse off than Hanna Rosin ever imagined. But I digress.

This isn't about dating or hair; it's about the fact that both of these women fancy themselves the bearer of the red pill (or whichever one opens your eyes to reality). Neither can understand that I don't want what she wants or that my needs are different from hers, in hair and other matters. So why not stop giving me advice?

***
I'm thinking about why this was such a triggering event. I have no buyer's remorse over my ($50) haircut. I was looking forward to it for a while--my hair was getting even more out of control than usual. It looks nice--nicer than it will look until the next time I get it cut, since I won't be able to recreate the style independently, but it will still look decent even when I just let it air-dry (which is what I usually do). Here's before and after: