My entire life I have coveted long, luxurious hair.
Maybe it’s because of my childhood obsession with Barbie dolls, or maybe it’s the steady diet of Saved By The Bell I consumed as a kid, but for whatever reason, I grew up thinking that shiny, cascading locks were the consummate and only ideal of female beauty.
Unfortunately for me, my impossibly thin, pin-straight hair refused to achieve great lengths. I blame bad genes. And the two unfortunate “perm incidents” I had in grade three.
No matter how hard I tried to let it grow, I could never achieve anything beyond shoulder-length.
….Until I got to law school. I’m not sure what changed, but after more than 20 years of feeble growth and breakage, my puny hair suddenly began to grow like a weed. By second year, it was halfway down my back. What can I say? I guess a steady diet of Alexander Keith’s and 3 a.m. donairs does a body good.
I felt like a whole new person with my long hair, and for almost two years I reveled in its glory. But then, I went and ruined it all.
For Halloween in third year, I decided to dress up as Snow White. I had a hairdresser pin my long locks up into a bob to complete the look, and the results were, in a word, spectacular.
You guy- I was the fricking FAIREST.
So true was the likeness that random people came up to me and suggested I apply for a job at DisneyWorld.
I was so in love with the attention I was getting that I started to think that maybe a REAL bob would be a good idea.
And that’s where I should have pumped the brakes.
But I didn’t. Instead, I made an appointment the very next day with the same hairdresser, and allowed her to chop off of my long beautiful hair. I was convinced I would love it- that when I looked in the mirror I’d see Snow White and her glossy black mane staring back at me. But instead, when she turned around my chair, I was like:
Not only had she cut it about 2-3 inches shorter than I intended, without all that extra hair pinned up underneath, it just looked flat, puny and lifeless. It was actually so thin that you could see through it.
I immediately started to cry (apparently crying in salons is a thing for me), while the poor hairdresser tried to convince me it looked great.
But I knew in my heart that it didn’t. I mean, you know a haircut is bad when NO ONE compliments you on it. And it’s not like they didn’t notice. I cut 8 inches off! 8!
Even when I asked my mom what she thought, her mouth said “it looks great!” but her eyes said:
My self-confidence plummeted, and I’ve been trying desperately to grow it back ever since, while at the same time dealing with the awkward in-between stages that follow a short haircut. I’ve tried everything- vitamins, special oils, prayers to Saint Agnes, the Patron Saint of all hair.
I even tried gluing hair on a vodoo doll. (I think I might have been doing it wrong.)
I was beginning to fear that I was destined to spend the rest of my days looking like the sad, “before” girl in Pantene Pro-V commercials:
But just a few months ago, it miraculously started to grow again. I guess Agnes must have snuck into my room while I was sleeping and sprinkled some chia seeds on that noise.
Anyway, I won’t question it- but I know that the next time I get the ridiculous urge to cut my hair, I’ll remember one thing: