On My Hair. And Why I Never Cut It Too Short.

When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me she hated my hair. It was long and heavy and thick, and just altogether difficult to maintain. It always got in the way of everything. I guess it was straight. I mean, it was supposed to be straight but even on its best day, it looked like I had just rolled out of bed. I had enough baby hair for three babies, and it was always tangled in knots. I never cared too much for it because it didn't matter how hard I tried to tame it, it had a mind of its own.

When I turned 8, my mom said she was tired of me and my sister's hair. She took us to my aunt, who was a hairdresser, and had her chop off--what seemed to me--two or three feet of my hair. It was traumatizing. I hated it. I remember my cousins not recognizing me and laughing at my new ridiculous hairdo. Oh, and not only was it short but my aunt gave me bangs. BANGS. Straight across my forehead. I looked like one of those HTT fobs.

It ruined what little good self-image I had of myself. Forever. Almost.

8 is that pre-awkward stage in your life where all your baby fat is gone and you're in between ugly and lanky. Or at least I was. My sister was 6, so she still had some of her baby fat. But then again, I guess she was always cute to begin but I digress.

I was livid. On top of that, I looked uglier than usual. I was an ugly, mad child. The worst combination ever. I remember crying and telling my mom that I would never let her decide what to do with my life hair. Her response? She laughed. And she couldn't stop laughing. She must have felt bad but it was absolutely comical how much of a drama queen I was being.

It took me another four years to grow it out to the middle of my back. And then another year for me to realize that I would need to cut my hair because it started looking ratty. I also learned what split ends were and they disgusted me.

Since then, I've never had my hair shorter than my armpit. And to me, that was too short and sometimes anxiety-inducing.

The last time I cut my hair, it was right before a break up. Unlike those who have post-breakup haircuts, I chose to have a pre-breakup haircut. I don't know. It was stupid. I was stupid. I thought it would make me stronger and less sad about having to break up with the guy but...I still felt pretty shitty. Sans hair and beau.

* * *
Almost everybody I know has probably only known me with long hair. Those close to me, know that I love my long hair and even though I've considered cutting it short, I never have. Until--dun dun dun--last night.

I went with my boyfriend to get his hair cut by our friend, Tom. Tom works at Whistle in the East Village. (Everybody should go to Tom. He has magic hands.) I hadn't planned on getting my hair cut. I just wanted to know what he thought would look good and when he would be free. But it happened. That night. He was probably feeding on my vulnerability and impulsivness (haha, kidddding Tom! I know you have my best interests at heart.)He suggested a short cut. Short as in...up to my collarbone. And before I knew it, he had my hair parted in two and had snipped off enough for me to donate to Wigs for Kids.

At first I was like--geeez-louise, I look like a man.
Memories from when I was 8 flooded my vision and I fought back the tears welling up in my eyes.
And then Tom blew it out--oh sha-dang, who dat cutie?
Then Tom added texture--ohayyyy shaawwwty wutup.
Finally he curled it--GO ON AND LOOK AT YOUR BAD SELF.

Yup. By the time Tom was done with my hair, I felt like a billion bucks. I kept flipping my hair back and forth because it was so light. I felt so pretty.

* * *
I spent the better half of this morning taking selfsies instead of writing cover letters. Who in the world would have ever thought that it would be so damn difficult to take selfsies? I started sweating after 5 minutes. And then I changed because I realized that the shirt I was wearing had a stain on it. I'm gross. Whatever.

Here. For the first time in almost 20 years, I re-introduce to you, the shortest my hair has ever been.

Before:

Ugh, don't tell me how nasty my hair was. I SEE IT NOW OKAY!?

After:
 

 
I don't know how to use a blow dryer and brush like Tom so I kept it ...kind of straight. I also don't know why I'm posing like this. I look like such a derp.

My hair looks great. I feel amazing. And now I won't shed my hair on my everything. Thanks Tom! I love your magic hands and wish you were my live-in stylist.