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.
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:
And left like this:
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.)
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.
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?