Pixie Baby, Pixie

Recently I have been thinking about my long hair. Probably because the year anniversary of when I cut it off is right around the corner.

The day I chopped off my hair still remains as one of the most liberating moments of my life. I had been thinking about cutting it off for months up to that point. I was planning on doing it right around my birthday. I had my reasons. I was turning 20 years old. Goodbye teenage years. Chopping off that part of my life. Not because I necessarily regretted it but because I was ready for a change, and how metaphorical. These were all my plans, yes, but would I actually have the guts to do it? Most women would agree that the idea of chopping off their hair is horrifying, and quite possibly the riskiest thing any woman would choose to do. However, the act of actually doing it wasn’t too intimidating to me. I mean, it’s just hair. It grows, right? Obviously, I am much less attached to my hair than most girls.

So, no, I wasn’t scared about cutting it off. What I was scared of was how people would react if I cut it off. Would people like it? So I started dropping hints around people.
“Do you think I could pull off a pixie cut? Hypothetically speaking of course.”
“Nahhh.”
“Not many people can, you know.”
“You aren’t thinking about getting a pixie cut, are you? Don’t.”

That was a majority of the responses I received. Yes, I did have a few positive responses, but most people are not a fan of the pixie. The pixie cut does not fit the gender schema. Girls are supposed to have long hair. Women are supposed to be sexy. Short hair isn’t sexy; it’s boyish. You know what’s sexy? Long, luxurious locks and a bodacious rack. Now, that’s sexy. And that’s how women are supposed to look, so they shy away from short hair. They remain hidden behind their long hair.

I was getting annoyed by these warnings. I knew I could pull off the pixie. I just knew it. And I want to prove everyone wrong. I was sold. I was chopping it off, and the more people who told me not to, the more I wanted to do it. I was sick of feeling constrained by my hair. I was sick of letting people rule my decisions. I was letting people define me as much as my hair define me. My decision was made.

I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be able to have a ponytail anymore.

I accepted the fact that people weren’t going to like it.
I accepted the fact that guys probably weren’t going to be attracted to me anymore.

And I didn’t care.

Did I cry? No.
I went in and said, “Do it. Chop it off.”

And there it went. And I was free. 

It was like I cut off years of insecurities and doubts.  

The best part of chopping off all my hair was that is was my decision and my decision alone. It was something I needed to do for me. Like I said, I was so sick of letting myself be influenced by other people. I was done with letting others define me. I needed to do this for me.

And I did.

And the Kathleen that had been hiding behind her hair for so long was released, and she was ready to face the world.

So do something. Do something for you, and you alone.

I know I need to because longhaired Kathleen is trying to resurface, and that’s not okay.