Wednesday, May 8, 2013

A Lovely Cut

I was four years old when I started growing out my hair.

For the next two decades, it was nearly miraculous if I was willing to let anyone near it with a pair of scissors. Sure, it got trimmed on a regular basis, and here and there the trims were maybe four full inches, but the bottom line was that I had long hair. I was obsessive about it, downright vain, and that was just the way it was. It was alternately a crutch or a point of pride ... but more completely, it was part of my identity.

One of the more fun Google Image searches I've made today.
And for a very, very long time, I looked ... very much the same. Other things changed (glasses to contacts, crooked teeth to braces to straight teeth, eventually hitting 5'3" and staying there) but my hair? Not so much.

It wasn't until I graduated college and moved to Wisconsin that I even considered anything else.

I don't know whether it was boredom, a new location, or the suddenness of feeling like an adult, but I abruptly overcame my fear of the stylist's chair. This was a huge step for me; over the course of two years, my hair got steadily shorter, till it just barely brushed my shoulders and couldn't all be pulled back. I looked ... like a grown-up.

However, not long after that it got neglected -- I got laid off, and fancy haircuts were one of the first things on the budget chopping block. After all, I'd spent most of my life not cutting it. Going back to that wasn't exactly a stretch of the imagination

By this point, I realized that (a) I really didn't hate having shorter hair, and (b) if I was going to chop it off, I may as well make use of it. In truth, it's a little ridiculous that it's taken me this many years to get around to this.

Enter Locks of Love.

The "before" picture. In related news, I despise
taking self-portraits.
Most you have heard of Locks and many of you may have made a donation yourself. I did a little research and found that, despite some of the arguments I've heard, I really liked the sound of this particular charity. With my new experience at Storm, I can appreciate a non-profit that finds ways to support itself (they have a minimum length requirement and sell the shorter hair they receive -- which also means they have a use for every ounce of hair that comes their way) and I deeply love the fact that the hairpieces they make are entirely for children.

It may have something to do with remembering how much it would have destroyed me at age eight to have not had my hair.

Anyway. Yesterday, I made the drive back to Sioux Falls to meet up with some friends, relax a little, and take care of a rather important little adventure. This morning, after months of measuring (it seems my hair just doesn't grow very fast) I finally made my trip in to Tasha, the one stylist I've had that I trusted with this cut.

She was excited. It's possible she's been wanting to chop my hair for a decade or so.

For the record? This ... pretty much grossed me out.
Ew, ew, ew...
Not forty-five minutes after I walked into the salon, I walked out with an entirely different look. And a foot of hair in an envelope.
I love the change.
But I still hate taking self portraits.

1 comment:

Amanda said...

I love it! I have been in the grow-out, chop-off cycle for years. I still can't decide which way I like it the best. Enjoy!