Hair is a form of self-expression. Before I began my continuous hair chopping, waiting to grow back, spontaneously chopping again cycle, my hair was like any other high school girls. One day a bun, another a ponytail, the next just quickly brushed and left alone. Okay, maybe not exactly like every other high school girl – I never did anything fancy like straightening or curling (which props to those who did), I think I just wanted to sleep in longer. Most days I was sporting my volcano bun, basically a bun but the ends of your hair fanning out at the base. Why not?
In that time where fitting in feels essential, I found inspiration in a classmate who broke off her relationship with long hair and came to school rocking a badass pixie cut. She stood out to me, powerful and confident. She gave me Anne Hathaway in Interstellar vibes, tomboyish and cute, an aesthetic I wanted but was too afraid to pursue. But hair is hair, at the young age of 15 I was pretty certain it would grow back, so I booked an appointment.
My stylist was supportive and all for it. She’d see me again and again years later flipping from pixie to bob to pixie. Her only precaution was the maintenance that would come, especially with thick Asian hair that had a tendency to poof. Like bad hair day, wearing a hat, poof. As a low maintenance gal I figured the work would push me to develop some sense of style beyond living in loose athletic clothes. My student athlete mind figured it was just easier to be wearing what I’d wear to practice all day and save the time. I was always proud to be the first one out of the girl’s locker room and on the tennis courts. I didn’t know then that this habit of mine would translate to being “that tennis girl” in my college classes. Imagine being recognized by a professor and peers in a 2,000+ student body for constantly showing up in the same gray and blue sweatsuit. Not one of those cute gym savvy looks complete with Lululemon leggings and a cute top but literal baggy, gray, potato sweatpants with a school logo slapped onto it. In my case, a giant muscular banana slug.
Oof.
But hair me out, rewind to high school me getting my first pixie cut. I’ve always found haircuts so relaxing and refreshing. The gentle hair wash and massage, the sounds of the scissors snipping, the anticipation for the final reveal! It came out sweet; all the way home I ran my fingers along the shaved portion of the back. It felt good, healthy, and kind of like petting a dog. It was definitely a sensation and reminder that this was the new me now. I too was a badass, though I’d stubbornly still wear my usual sportswear. With this drastic change of my appearance, I found my feelings about clothes were changing too. Too feminine, body shaping pieces are uncomfortable, to feeling lost on what to wear. My perception of what it meant to identify as a womxn was challenged by others who questioned my gender and sexual orientation. From all sides I was getting the narrative “girls need to have long hair”. Eight years of flipping now, I look back on my experiences with short and long hair and look forward to sharing with you the journey it has been.