About a million years ago, when I was still dancing, in pointe shoes no less, I had another sign of rogueness. I was feeling in a rut and expressed to my Director (and dear friend) that I was thinking of cutting my hair off. After telling me I couldn’t do that (which is the fastest way to get me to do something), she relented, but said I would have to wear a fake bun for the Spring show. Fine.
Instead, I was cast as the Evil Queen and was put in a hood/scull cap. So, I got to cut my hair short, got a kick-ass part (basically looking pissed off and kicking people in between battements, and I’m pretty sure I hissed at the audience at one point – aka, typecasting) and had a blast. Winning.