If memory serves me right, it is about 2009. My mom takes me to a kid’s hair salon, in which I get to sit in a car and “drive” while the lady chops away at my hair. I emerge with the swing bob, the style of the time. My hair, from then on, is interwoven with my identity.
Routinely, I went back and got the same cut. When my hair got long and tangled in giant chunks of tussled brown strands, which I neglected to brush, it was time for another big chop. I was always told my bob was sassy and matched my personality. This hairstyle remained my signature look for years.
When I was about 10 years old, I let my hair grow long as a symbol of my bold independence, as my mom began to let me maintain it by myself. My long, knotted hair marked a time in my life as I envisioned myself as an independent woman, though not even a teenager yet. Years later, in high school, in hopes of another change and more independence, I did another chop.
During my freshman year of college, I felt a little set adrift. I struggled with my new pace of life. I wanted to look different to match my newfound maturity. Though I still had a bob, I wanted something drastic. I cut my hair to my chin. I loved it at first, but as my hair grew tortuously slow, I ached for the long, luscious locks of my youth.
I came to hate the bob. I was so unkind to pictures of myself with the haircut. I thought somehow, if I had long, beautiful hair, I would feel prettier, mature and independent. I would feel like the person I used to be.
Now I am four years free of the bob, still in the process of growing it out. I have lots of long, thick, sometimes wavy, always frizzy, unmanageable hair. I usually hate it. I find myself frequently wishing for any other kind of hair. I look high and low on the internet for new products to try, always to no avail. Sometimes I simply accept defeat.
I recently attended a family event in which I talked to out-of-town family members who are lost to the memory of a two-year-old me. At this party, one distant relative gave my hair a little toss and said, “I am so jealous of your beautiful, thick hair.” I was taken aback and told her I was having a terrible hair day, full of frizz and wacky waves. She said, “that’s part of the look.”
I realized that I can be so mean to myself based on something as trivial as a bad hair day. Yes, my hair is often the messiest mass of waves you have ever seen, but that really is part of the look.
Like my little self, I can be sassy, eccentric and energetic. That is, and has been, reflected in my hair. I never needed the bob or my long locks to prove my maturity, my independence or my worth.
Though I still want to grow my hair and achieve the ultimate princess tresses, I will always have a fondness for the bob. She saw me through thick and thin (mostly thick, though, because my hair is so thick). The bob showed me I can do hard things, like grow up and realize my own worth. It showed me that even though I go through changes, I never really lose who I am. Little me with her swing bob remains a part of who I am.
Hair can seem like everything to us. It feels so important to reflect our moods and our stages in life. Hair can do all that. Hair holds memories. It reflects who we are and where we are meant to be.
Embrace the messy. Savor the days when your hair looks amazing, despite not even trying to style it. Look back on any hairstyle, bob or not, with appreciation for the time you had it. We cannot have a good hair day without a bad hair day.