A few months ago, I moderated a televised book-fair panel, an event I approached with a certain amount of trepidation, but that providentially went well. An overflowing audience laughed and clapped in the right places. The panelists thanked me after. I felt great.

Two weeks later, an email arrived in my inbox with the subject header, “GET A HAIRCUT.” Here’s what my correspondent had to say:

“Had the unfortunate experience of seeing you on Miami Dade College video tossing your head around and continuously pushing the hair out of your face. What the hell is the matter with you? Why wear hair that covers your eye? You are an insult to women.”

Well, what could I say to that? I mulled over the possibilities: “I don’t know what the hell is the matter with me!” “Clearly my hair is only the tip of the iceberg.” “Do you think I ought to let it grow?”

Or I could share the godawful truth: that I had a haircut only just that week.

But I became bogged down in the meaning behind the missive. What had I done so wrong that it prompted her to get up from the television set (or just pick up her iPad), find an email address on my website and zap off such vitriol? How had she gone from critiquing my appearance to such a generalized frenzy of contempt? I am a journalist, after all, appearing on C-Span to moderate a panel on reading. It’s not about the hair.