Even though, previous to my recent cut, I had the same hair style for what seemed like forever (barring some slight colour variations courtesy of balayage by my go-to mane man), my hair is the subject of relentless conflict. The dispute is internal, of course, because let’s face it, no one else really gives a shit about what you do to your hair, but you. Even your husband who is resolute in his preference for long hair, will come around if you decide to go for the chop. And I know I’m not the only one whose hair is ground zero when it comes to making a change. Inherent in being human, is the propensity for boredom (with the way we look, what we’re doing, who we love), and hair, no matter the underlying cause of our restlessness, is the easiest/fastest/cheapest/highest impact thing to change in terms of appearance. Our locks, it turns out, are completely defenceless in the face of instant gratification. And so was the fate suffered my by own long hair a few weeks ago.
Having been in a bit of a professional rut with an ugly birthday on the horizon, I gave way to impulse and told my stylist, Matt, to “cut it to the shortest layer.” (I should point out that it wasn’t an entirely impulsive move because I had been wanting to get rid of my layers for some time and like I said, I’m always thinking about whether “to chop or not to chop..?”), but what I do know (and what was made painfully apparent as I watched the pros on Dancing With the Stars swish their gratuitously long locks around the ballroom during Monday’s season premiere), is that I miss my mane. Sure, I like that my new cut frames my face a little more and is therefore, less severe than the long layers that hung there previously (especially in light of the aforementioned ugly birthday), and the shorter length also means that I can sleep on it without having to have a major session with my straightener before leaving the house the next morning. But I also no longer experience the rush of my hair tickling my mid-back (which, when you grow up with curly hair that took forever to grow, is still a big deal at 38 years old), and before, even if the rest of me didn’t feel on-point, I always had my long hair. Now I’m having a March sisters moment and feel like I may have cut off my one beauty (or at least, one of the things that makes me feel beautiful). But the good news is that hair grows back…and just now when I picked up my phone to check my Insta feed, I caught the reflection of my newly blunt ends in my back-facing mirror, which have separated into a more choppy look over the course of the day, and I’m kind of digging it. The battle wages on.
Top Shop Jamie jeans | H&M tank | Aldo booties | Zara leather jacket