This past weekend, I made the spontaneous decision to lose the thing that is most precious to me: my hair. I have had the same straight-across, grown-out, chunky, highlighted hair for the past four years. I was ready for a change: touched-up roots. I walked into my hair salon expecting to leave with fresh roots and non-cut hair; however, when she had washed out the bleach, ran a brush through my hair, and asked if I wanted anything cut, I froze. I pulled up an image on Pinterest that displayed a girl with beautiful, long, thick hair — nothing remotely similar to the thin, chest-length hair that grew off my head. I asked if she thought we could get my hair to look like this. I desired to have the long layers the girl on Pinterest had. My hairdresser confirmed it was indeed possible to get that look. She assured me that all I needed was a roller brush, so I did it. I cut my hair.
I didn’t realize it while it was on my head, but I loved my hair; in fact, it may have been the only thing I really loved about the way I look. After my haircut, I reassured myself that it was cute. My face-framing layers certainly did not make me look like Lord Farquad, but instead they were trendy and fit my round face perfectly. The next day I woke up and showered. I blow-dried my hair with a roller brush and stared blankly into the mirror. Where did my hair go? Why doesn’t my hair look like the girl in the Pinterest photo? I tried for what seemed like hours to get the perfect wave at the bottom of my hair. Instead, my hair looked choppy and messy. Hours passed, and I grew frustrated with the lack of cooperation my hair was giving me. I used to simply roll out of bed and barely needed to brush it for it to look presentable. Why was it giving me such grief now?Â
My layered hair requires work. After having it for a little over a week, I’ve realized now that I can’t just expect to roll out of bed and walk out the door. It requires time, patience, and effort. I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on new tools and products in an attempt to salvage my hair.Â
Mornings that used to be as simple as waking up 20 minutes before my bus now require an extra hour just to lather my hair with expensive products. My morning routine is different now that I have layered hair: I wake up with the sun, I make a coffee, and I turn on my favorite binge-watching show as I do my hair for the day. My mornings are slower now, and maybe that isn’t the worst thing.Â
As clichĂ© as it is, I am beginning to think that my layers are more than just a frustrating haircut. Maybe they are a sign that I am changing. I’ve always been fast-paced in life. I speed from place to place, from friend to friend, and I complete tasks as fast as possible. I rush through my mornings and hurry to my next obligation in hopes of making my days go by just a little bit quicker. But now, with hair that refuses to cooperate without time and care, I have been forced to slow down. I have to pay attention. Maybe my layers are exactly what I needed this year: a reason to pause, to focus, and to let change happen instead of running past it.Â
Change isn’t always pretty: it certainly wasn’t in my head, and it’s rarely easy. However, sometimes it is necessary. My layers might not look like the girl’s on Pinterest, but learning to live with them feels like enough for me.Â