I got six inches cut off yesterday, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.
Long hair for me was way more trouble that all the effort it took for me to maintain it and not make it look fluffy and frizzy and stringy. It looks so much thicker and healthier with all that dead weight gone. I feel lighter, cooler, freer—and best of all, like myself again.
That was the longest my hair had ever been, and this bob is still pretty long for me. I like having versatility, but there is nothing like a pixie cut either, in terms of simplicity and style. I feel like this is a good compromise style; my husband claims he likes my short hair just as much as my long, but I know he’s just saying that. I know he still loves me (duh), and I gave growing my hair out three years of my life, which is far more time than I care to waste on my hair. I tried it, and it’s not for me.
I made a point not to ask him whether he likes it or not, because that’s just a small factor in my decision. I cut my hair because I wanted to, because it’s best for me, it’s how I feel good about myself, how I want to present myself to the world. I feel awesome, I feel prettier, I feel powerful, and I feel like I can concentrate better on things I care about when I’m not constantly dealing with anxiety over my thinning spots and receding hairline (thank you, bangs). And what’s the point of long hair when all I do is just put it up every day? Ponytails and buns get so old day after day when you don’t have shampoo-commercial hair, and no shampoo you can find will achieve it for you.
Hair is just hair, except when it’s not. I believe it’s important to try new things and experiment with your look to find what suits you best and what makes you feel beautiful and happy. If it doesn’t work, it’ll grow back. And if it doesn’t grow back, there are awesome wigs you can buy, if you even give a shit. This whole cultural obsession with long hair on (white) women is so tired—if you want long hair, awesome. If you want short hair, awesome. If you want no hair, awesome.
I know it’s trite, but it’s your fucking head. Do what you want with it; you’re the one who has to look at it in the mirror every day.