I used to associate how long and beautiful someone’s hair was with their relative popularity. This metaphor, like most things I thought whilst in high school, proved to be entirely unreliable as I discovered things like “logic” and “not being an idiot teenager.”
There was a girl on my volleyball team who was the high school triple threat: athletic, smart, and had the longest, most beautiful hair of anyone I’d ever seen outside of the pages of the Guinness World Records/Little House on the Prairie novel. She was also, unequivocally, a world class brat. My mom always reminds me of this fact by never calling this girl by her name in stories, only by the moniker That Bratty Girl On Your Volleyball Team. At the time, I couldn’t see that through all the Hair Envy I had going on. I wanted long hair and I wanted it right then. Many-a-high-school mistake was probably made based on Hair Envy; mine was trying to be metaphorically cool via long hair.
My hair is really too thin and wispy to be anything but fairly short. I’ve fooled myself for a long time in this realm. I look back to pictures of high school with my long, pine needle straight hair and wonder, truly, what I was thinking. This look is especially unforgiving when your hair is the actual color of pine needles.
Throughout college I alternatively chopped and grew it out… never really deciding what I wanted. Last year around this time, I chopped it about 11 hours before my best friend’s wedding. It was mostly an emotional cut… feeling the need for a drastic change but not quite ready to commit to a tattoo or temporary-horrible-boyfriend.
This time, it got a little bit cool and breezy outside and I decided that short hair looks better with scarves. I envisioned my freshly-bobbed self skipping down Boulevard with the leaves falling all around me like a J.Crew catalogue cover. Today is hot and rainy, but I stand by it.
I chopped my hair off again. Short hair for the win.