I’ve Outgrown The Kitchen Scissors

We are so back. And by “we” I mean my curls. 

Last weekend, I got my hair cut for the first time since 2018. For the first time in my whole life by a hairstylist who was not employed at a Great Clips. I’m not particularly attached to my hair, but each time she asked whether I was okay with going shorter, I was forced to reflect on the moment that section of hair had sprouted from my scalp. Like a life flashing before my eyes moments before death, I saw everything those dead ends had seen since my sophomore year of high school and eagerly said “absolutely.”  

I honestly couldn’t tell you why I’ve avoided getting my hair done for so long. Part of me has a hard time spending money on something I could theoretically do myself, even if my attempt will inevitably be noticeably amateur and poorly done. Another part of me feels a slight sense of superiority being able to say “Oh, I cut them myself,” even though the people around me are probably thinking “Yeah, obviously.” 

I do think that, for a very long time, I had been using my hair as a sort of safety blanket— a metaphorical invisibility cloak. In my adolescent brain, my long, wavy, highlighted hair somehow made my personality less noticeable. Like many teenage girls, I was terrified of being too loud, too “big”— all of my choices were made in hopes of taking up as little space as possible.

Looking back on the ways I’ve styled my hair since childhood, each and every hairstyle of choice was indicative of my mentality at the time. In my freshman year of high school, I constantly straightened my hair in an attempt to “fit in” with a group of friends that wasn’t right for me. Freshman year of college, I started to reject the notion that hiding my face and body would make my existence easier— enter my slick back ponytail era. My refusal of any real change to my hair over the past few years appeared alongside a period of neglect of my own mental health. 

Over the past year, I’ve been working on detaching my sense of self from my physical appearance. My self esteem shouldn’t stem from the outward affirmation I receive on the way I look. At the same time, going through a mental rough patch doesn’t mean that my body deserves to be neglected. Despite the subtle nature of my recent hair change, I feel affirmed in the fact that my exterior is beginning to align with my growth as a person. It may sound simple-minded, but this slight alteration of my appearance has made me feel 10x more prepared to graduate college, finally shedding the skin I’ve been outgrowing for the past 3 years.

Strike Out,

Mia Cadaret, Writer