It's been less than 48 hours since I gave the lady at my local hair salon permission to come at my locks and chop off a good six inches (maybe more, I'm not good at judging length). I've tried for forever to grow out my hair, and for the past two years relished in the satisfaction of seeing those strands hit the middle of my back. I loved trying out new braids and perfecting that oh-so-fetching hair flip. It became a nervous habit to gather all of my hair and toss it to one side or the other. Needless to say, I've tried to do the same with my new short 'do, and it doesn't quite work the same. Every time a hair appointment approached, I would think about taking the leap onto the "lob" train only to cave and settle for a simple trim. Occasionally I'd spring for bangs (or my newest obsession, the undercut at the nape of my neck I got last August), but usually I convinced myself that my wavy locks simply couldn't handle a stylish cut. After a rather large nudge from my sister, my hair is now the shortest it's been in over a decade, and while I am low-key in love, it's still an adjustment. That being said, here was the thought process:
1. But I worked so hard to do this:
2. What if I can't style it?
3. What if it doesn't work for my face shape, like, at all?
4. What if everyone thinks it's stupid but never say anything because scientists have yet to figure out a way to reattach sheared strands?
5. Sitting in the chair like:
6. When the stylist starts snipping:
7. When the hair is gone and she starts the blow-dry:
8. The moment of truth.
9. Crying with joy because it's not ruined.
10. Being happy because I can still do this:
11. Being proud of myself for making the change.