Let’s talk about hair. Specifically, short hair.
For much of my childhood and adult life, I’ve had short hair. I neither loved it nor hated it. It was just what my hair looked like. But ever so faintly, I associated my short and straight hair with being a little less pretty, and a little less attractive.
As I got older, I recognized the allure of my short hair. I appreciated the brash confidence it took to show off my neck, jaw line, and ears. I liked the simplicity of it. I liked having my face open with nothing to hide behind. Short hair and me, we’d made peace.
Still, I admired long hair from afar. It flows down the back, or gets loosely thrown up in a bun, threatening to topple down. I longed for long hair, but it was impossible. My hair just wasn’t thick enough. I’d have to understand.
But then a few years ago, I met my current hairdresser, Kim. And Kim LOVES long hair. Finally! With her, I now experiment with hair that flows down way past my shoulders. Kim cuts for maximum fullness (which my hair naturally lacks) and styles it so I look like a person who is used to having such a big business on the top of her head.
I love it. But I feel like a sham. No matter how long my hair grows, I’ll always be a short hair girl on the inside. Still, I’m not cutting it off. At least not yet. I’m not done gazing at the woman in the mirror with the big head of hair.
Maybe its a phase, I don’t know. It does grow back, right?