A Post-Haircut Crisis
Yesterday, I chopped all of my hair off. It wasn’t some big decision that I’d been planning for months-I actually didn’t know I was going to do it until I was sitting in the chair. When the hairdresser asked, I picked what I thought was an arbitrary, reasonable point for a trim. Clearly, my spatial memory needs some work.
My hair hasn’t been this short since the fifth grade, and I’ve never felt this naked. I get it, that’s dramatic. But it’s true. Everyone has a part of them that they use for comfort, something they know for certain they like about themself. For me, even when I hated my stomach or scrutinized the flatness of my nose, my hair was a home I could appreciate. It’s healthy and jet black and shiny and soft. After the chop, it’s still all of those things, but there’s less of it. Less room for me to hide in when things get unsafe. That feels scary.
In some ways it’s freeing. When I put my hair up in a ponytail, I get a cute bouncy coil instead of a huge bulk of weight on my neck. I’m sure my shampoo spending will go down and hopefully I’ll shed less (the random hairs everywhere were getting out of hand.) It feels unnatural now, but it looks good, and hair grows. I think it was a necessary step to get me out of my shell.
As with any physical change, the haircut has come with a shift in mindset. It both figuratively and literally gave me space to grow. Not to get super deep over something so shallow, but I’m excited to see the things I’ll achieve with a new look and a fresh set of eyes.