In October 2010, I chopped my locks off. Granted, they weren’t Rapunzel-length by any extension-understanding of the word, but still. I went from THIS:
In like, 30 minutes or less.
I can’t necessarily explain why I chopped off my hair. I’ve done it before, during my first year at U of T, but never THIS short. It’s a different short this time, a boy-short, spike-it-up short, nothing-you-can-really-do-with-it-but-wear-it-proudly short.
The first time, I knew what I wanted and I was happy with the result. This time was a jerk reaction. I wanted some highlights when I walked into my hairdresser’s studio. Just a little “lightening up,” I said.
After all my iron-ore locks were sticking to my socks, I started panicking. I couldn’t stuff it all up in a ponytail, I couldn’t tease it into a braid, I couldn’t cajole it into a messy bun. I’ve heard from more than a few women (girls) I know that they’re aware that their hair is a security blanket. They admit this without fear, but with fear of ever cutting it all off – of letting go of their barrier and coming forth… naked.
It took me a week of post-cutting depression to ease back into myself; fit into myself like stepping into a skin that had somehow, over the course of 10 inches (or so), started fitting better.
To me, this shortness means carrying myself everyday like I want to be seen, everyday. It means presenting myself with my best face each morning. It means trying to be the best version of myself, regardless of pimples, bags, or (gasp!) wrinkles. I’ve never been a vain person, I think, but pimples often did, and do bother me, simply because I’ve had to see them since I was about 12. But at a point in my life (mainly October 2010) I got tired of worrying about it all; my short hair makes me live up to everything else I have inside of me, instead of my often-clogged pores.
Who the fuck cares, anyway?
Short hair makes me want to dress more feminine and put on lipstick, not as a reason to “cover myself”, but to show off everything I love (note: myself): to arch my brows, to define my jaw line, to have a waist – in short, to emphasize what I have instead of cover what I don’t. In some strange way, short hair makes me work out more and work out harder when I go to the gym, because I think this sort of frame deserves a smokin’ body – deserves a matching, delicate, strong woman’s body.
I am a strong woman, and years of hair isn’t going to prove or disprove that to anyone. I’m not saying that any hair will do that for you if you don’t possess a basic confidence in your own va-va-voooom!!!, but I know that it certainly gave me a boost.
You’ll learn your strengths while developing more and more into someone unafraid of insecurities, issues and your own goddamn’ beautiful flesh.
P.S. I’m going SO SO BLONDE for summer 2011.