Perhaps there are ladies out there who feel differently, but for me and mine a bad haircut can seem like the end of the world.

Unfortunately I had one if these personal disasters last week.


Sometimes a crisis doesn’t seem so bad when its put into words. On one hand, I’m getting a great lesson in perspective as I attempt to share about my emotional week. However, I’m still upset about it all, and I don’t want to make light.

Being that upset meant something, pointed to something serious deep within me. Perhaps that’s the nature of the struggle?


 

With the set-up aside, I’m going to attempt to explain my week in 5ish minutes. My friend Jaime hosts a Stream of Consciousness link-up each weekend. Perhaps I’m making things too difficult and I should just write.

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About a decade ago (yikes, let me try again) back in 2001, I took a picture of Winona Rider into the salon and asked for a pixie cut.  While I had dabbled with short-ish hair before, this marked the first time I really went for it.

I kept the style for long enough to know I loved it, only growing it out for a boyfriend. Not a specific boy, but rather boys in general. A 20 something single woman, I “knew” I had to have long hair if I wanted to get a date.

Judge me if you must. Trust me, I had to work not to roll my eyes at 15-years-ago me. Moving right along.

Last year I decided to go short again. With each cut I’ve made tweaks, and love it more and more. I started with a picture of Jennifer Lawrence, and while mine hair was a bit shorter than hers, I liked it and the cut grew quickly.

I’ve been gathering photos on my pixie aspirations Pinterest board and took one in to my hairdresser (newly back from maternity leave). I took in a picture of long swooping bangs and a short back cut. I explained that I wanted the top to stay long, just cleaned up a bit. The back would be significantly shorter.

I walked in like this:

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And left like this:

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I cried the whole way home. The soft feminine cut I had requested was no where to be found. Instead I suspected I looked like a 12 year old boy.

A certain amount of confidence is required to have no hair to soften the face. I just don’t have it right now. So instead, I’m wearing heavy make-up, chunky jewelry, and choosing the most feminine clothing I own.

As it stands, I’ve been on the receiving end of stares to the point of awkwardness (all through lunch today). The lady at the pizza joint thought my friend Libby and I were a couple. (Although her “just the two of you?” question seemed more strange thanks to the 4 pizzas and 2 brownie squares we were picking up.)

In summation:

My hair is short. I’m not okay with it.
But I’m totally not okay with you not being okay with it.
Please don’t stare at people. Even if they do a faux-hawk. It could be the best they can do under the circumstances.

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I feel so exposed. Naked. 

I’m considering trying to make head coverings for Christian women a thing again.

Have you ever been traumatized by a bad hair cut?
What is the shortest your hair has ever been?

 

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