For essentially my entire adult life (save for six months after the birth of my first child, when I had no time, was high on hormones, and was feeling particularly inspired by Reece Witherspoon’s post-divorce chop), I’ve had long hair. I was, in fact, super attached to my hair. I think it had something to do with the Dorothy Hamill ‘do I sported for many years of my childhood (me and a zillion other kids, and probably adults; this despite the fact that no one but Dorothy Hamill looked good in that hair cut). Who wouldn’t want long hair after such a debacle? Besides, I was quite inspired by Carolyn Bessette’s stunning long blonde locks. So, that was it. I had long blonde hair. For a long time.
But all that changed a few months ago. I can’t remember exactly where the shift occurred. But I suddenly felt the urge to cut my hair. And not just the miniscule trim I’d get a few times a year (while begging my stylist not to cut it too much and holding my breath until the ordeal was over). When my husband seemed to like the idea, I decided to go for it. I had planned on him suggesting I keep the long locks (isn’t that what men are supposed to like?). But when he didn’t, I figured, why not?
I think I just couldn’t take the upkeep anymore. Staying something less than naturally blonde is enough work in itself. But add the time involved with making wavy, super-long hair straight, and you’ve found yourself a part-time profession.
I was just over it. I couldn’t take the upkeep anymore. So I decided to cut it.
It was a decision surprisingly free of angst (especially given the fact that making the most minute decisions can be a process for me). Despite my deep attachment to my hair, I felt totally fine about the prospect of going much shorter. As in six to twelve inches shorter.
Good thing, because upon hearing my plan, my stylist chopped a huge portion off right away. I guess she didn’t want me to lose the nerve. So she just hacked off a whole ton of it, and then set about shaping what was left.
I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when it was all over. Would I miss the hair that had come to be a bit of a security blanket? Would I mind that my ponytail was now much shorter, as in more of a pigtail, less of a pony? Would I regret the decision and start growing my hair back instantly?
Lucky for me (and everyone around me), the answer to these questions was all a resounding no. Instead, I loved my hair right away. I haven’t missed all that extra length (or the super long ponytail I used to sport). Funnily enough, I look back and wonder how I ever dealt with so much hair. How did I possibly straighten that mop all the time? And by that, I mean this mop:
I worried that cutting my long hair would make me feel older, less sexy. Isn’t that what women do as they age, after all? Chop their hair off? But, many people have told me the cut makes me look younger. And more chic. Are they humoring me? Perhaps, but it doesn’t even matter to me, because I’m too busy loving my short(er) hair. And frolicking around with all kinds of free time from not having to tame all that extra hair all the time.
Of course, if I change my mind, I can just grow it back. But something tells me I won’t be doing that. Unless Reece Witherspoon goes through another divorce. And then all bets are off.
Meanwhile, it’s a good thing I’m loving my shorter hair, because today it somehow got even shorter. I went for a trim, and now it’s not just shorter, but seriously bordering on short. And that’s fine. Because I think I love it.