Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I love a good pixie cut. The right short haircut on the right person is transcendent. Yes, Honey, show off that beautiful bone structure! The problem for me is, I am not that person. Maybe I was fifteen years ago, but not anymore.

It’s a vicious cycle. When my hair grows long I start thinking about chopping it all off. Once it’s cut, I am filled with regret. Then I start growing it out again and that means suffering through the awkward stage. This is when the hair starts growing over the ears and the back grows faster than the front, mullet style. I hear that mullets have seen a recent rise in popularity (or maybe that was last year). I don’t exactly have my finger on the pulse of fashion. Either way, if you are reading this and you have a mullet, I respect your bold choice and I’m sure you look fabulous. For me, the (unintentional) mullet is very unpleasant. Good thing I work from home!

I feel shallow for mentioning it. Everybody wants to look good. But what does that mean, exactly? Hair is literally just a nest of dead cells on top of our heads. Why should it matter how they’re arranged? Why spend the money, energy, and resources on something so arbitrary? I guess it all comes down to our need to feel attractive.

The pandemic has turned our lives upside down, changed us for better or worse. Doing things mostly online rather than in person has taken its toll on my willingness to give a shit about my appearance. Pajamas are so cozy and showering everyday is overrated. Plus, I never work up a sweat sitting at my desk for eight hours straight. Needless to say, work-life balance has been a problem for me.

I was laid off from my job a while back and struggled to find another. I am working again, but the panic I felt never went away. What I learned from that experience is not how I can pull myself up by my bootstraps (whatever the hell that means), but that my livelihood is tenuous and can be stripped away at any time. I am not as in control as I thought I was. None of us are.

So what does one do when they feel out of control? They search for something, anything they can do to fell in control. And it has to be dramatic! Should I start taking drugs? Have an affair? Nope, too messy! How about this hair on my head? Let’s change it!

“Ever heard of an undercut?,” whispers the little devil on my shoulder. That evil bastard! Let’s call him Garry. Garry thinks it’s funny to suggest asymmetrical bobs, bangs, and at home highlight kits. He never fails to convince me to take the risk. “Go big or go home!” he says.

Sitting in the chair, I show the stylist a few reference pictures of models half my age with nary a visible pore on their smooth photoshopped faces. She shaves the back and sides about an eighth of an inch from my scalp. It looks…bad. It looks very very bad, but at the same time it is exactly what I asked for. She starts talking about my next appointment. I take her business card, knowing with absolute certainty, that I will never set foot in that place again.

Nowadays when I ask my husband what he thinks of my hair, his voice goes up an octave with his response. “It’s nice,” he says. Bless him for his lies.

“Just a few more inches and I can tuck it behind my ears,” I say. But we both know this will happen again. And I think I just heard Garry say something about a perm.