Once upon a time I had hair. Now I don’t. I lopped it off. Or rather, my hairdresser lopped it off at my direction. I think I’ve been fascinated with the charm of short hair since I was nine years old and saw Audrey Hepburn transform from a regal princess into a gamine minx in Roman Holiday with just a few snips of the barber’s scissors. This seemed as good a time as any to follow her example.
The problem is I am not Audrey Hepburn. Conventional wisdom dictates that only a certain kind of person can pull off a pixie cut–someone dainty and petite with large eyes, high cheekbones, and a small pointed chin. That does not describe me even a little. I am neither delicate nor tiny. My face is round, my cheekbones unsculpted, and my eyes are not, to my knowledge, saucer-like in the least. But I went for a pixie anyway. Despite knowing that a hefty percentage of the populace will hate it, and despite knowing that I will be mistaken for a teenage boy at least once (and probably more often than that) and despite realizing that I will have to put up with the sympathetic clucks of well-meaning people who will assure me that hair grows back (thanks for the science lesson, peeps). Despite knowing all of that I did it anyway. Why? Because I have declared it the year of the honey badger.
I don’t think anybody in my life thought this move was a good idea. I don’t even think I thought it was a good idea, but sometimes it’s worth it to try something different just because it is different. Besides, I’ve never been that attached to my hair, mainly because I suck at doing interesting things with it. It was always either down or in a ponytail. It just hung there, the hanks of keratin playing dead and annoying me because my hair wasn’t magically bouncy and curly like Gossip Girl hair. My flat, sad hair made me feel flat and sad so I took my revenge, and it was sweet.
Or semi-sweet. I’m still getting used to the androgyny of it all. Luckily, B really likes it (either that or he’s a really good actor), and overall I’m glad I took the chance. My curiosity is satisfied, and so is the honey badger within. As I settle in to the life of a very short-haired person, I’ll probably have more incredibly profound things to say about, you know, hair and stuff, but for now I’ll just get on with the before and afters.
Me before with boring hair.
Me with boy hair. Whoot whoot!
I’m still getting the hang of the faux hawk, but I do like that it adds about three extra inches to my height. When you have super tall in-laws like I do (I am the shortest by far, and I have to constantly remind them that I am not a dwarf), every inch counts.