My mom has always told me that if I didn’t like a haircut, that “it’ll grow out in a few months.” Easy enough to accept on the surface level, right? I’ve recited this line in my head dozens of times as I would walk out of the hair salon with a haircut that was not at all what I wanted. I’ve whispered it under my breath more than a dozen times the day after a haircut, when the shine from the wash and style at the salon has worn off, and even as I have put the “new-do” through my normal beauty routine. I’ve also cried over countless haircuts; as easy as it seems to let go of something superficial, like hair, we braid our identity and experience into appearance.
The first thing I notice about someone is their hair. I spend the most time getting ready in the morning, straightening or fixing my hair in some way. Hair can be an expression of the inner state (day 3 hair and dry shampoo days during finals or back in middle school when every girl would curl her hair on her birthday). Hence, the itch to chop off 5 inches of hair, go blonde, grow hair out for a dance, or cut bangs yourself. The change in hair length and style is jarring. It is noticeable to the outside world and especially to ourselves. Lots of people will change their hair after going through a major change or crisis in their life. The magic of all this is being able to see the shift in who you are and what the world sees with the snip of scissors and has led to haircuts being the go-to after a breakup.
We keep our hair a certain way for other people at times, because our partner likes to run their fingers through it or our friends want everyone to have updos for photos or to seem more professional for work. Everyone has a reason. I grew my hair out for prom my junior year, cut it to my collarbone before coming to college, and have woke up early to create beachy waves in hopes of some guy noticing me. Over Winter Break, I reluctantly scheduled an appointment at my salon back home. I was determined to grow my hair out with winter (but split ends need to be cut). The last time I had shorter hair was at the start of freshman year; when I was younger, more naive, and unsure of myself. Now a sophomore who has undergone so much growth in the year and a half since then, I wanted to show my progress somehow. Cue the notion to grow my hair out.
Then the day of my haircut that feeling came over me, the want for something different right now—not in a few months. I took a minute and allowed myself to think of how much the past semester was and how my hair felt like dead weight. Holding onto it would be holding on to the rough days and stress. No breakups needed, just a minute with myself to acknowledge that change doesn’t always have to be instigated by one moment, experience, or a heartbreak.
Now if you know me and have seen my haircut, you probably wouldn’t even notice that much of a difference. And that’s okay, because I see it. The problem with the typical definition of a “breakup haircut” is that it implies a drastic loss in hair, like the change is supposed to fill what was lost in the breakup. It’s not that simple. A haircut can be a way to heal, a reminder that you will get through whatever you are going through—your hair will grow back and you will grow with it.