The Chop

Hair.

So much about us comes from our hair. It's a source of pride, frustration, embarrassment, and individuality. It can dictate our moods, as it's impossible to be in a bad mood when having a great hair day, but will send your day spiraling in a heartbeat on a bad one. It can also send people in a panic to find a gray one, or when it starts to fall out. Nothing defines your appearance more than hair. It's the first thing people mention when describing someone else. One thing is for certain: there's a lot of emotion tied to our hair. Women especially.

I have very thick, very dark, curly hair. And before Friday at noon, it was long. Really long. The amount of hair on my head was pretty amazing. It had gotten to the point where it was more than halfway down my back. On the rare occasion that I wore it down (because wearing it down was a pain in the ass) people stared at it, asking, "is all that yours?" Yes, it's all mine.

I had been growing it long for two reasons. One being that I'm too cheap and lazy to get it cut on a regular basis, but the other reason being that I had the intention of donating it ever since my mom lost her hair to chemotherapy several years ago. I knew how emotional it had been for her to lose her hair, and had I had enough at the time, I would have cut it off right then and there, but I didn't, so I let it grow.

For the past year or so, I've been talking about chopping and donating it "soon." Even though I knew I wanted to donate it, I'd grown rather attached to my hair. It was my thing. I know it sounds silly, but I was actually worried that if I got rid of it, I would lose my one distinguishing feature. Without it, I would just blend in with every other girl. To help my decision-making, I asked the cute neighbor if that was in fact true. He told me I was indeed being ridiculous, and mentioned that people (men) were too busy staring at my legs, ass, and boobs to notice my hair. He's so romantic.

On Friday morning, I woke up determined to cut my hair. I'm not sure why Friday, but I tend to make big chops during times of really big change in my life. This year certainly qualifies. First the cute neighbor is moving away this week (maybe it was a preemptive chop, in preparation for the loss of a man?), then I'm moving to Europe for grad school in the fall. I'd say it's a year for new starts. And thus, new hair.

I told the hair dresser what I wanted. She asked if I was sure. I told her I was. She reminded me that what I'd told her was longer than the 10 inches required, so I didn't need to go so short. I told her to do it anyway. She put my hair in a ponytail. Then chopped it off. She cut off an entire foot of hair from my head. A foot of hair!

I exhaled. I already felt much lighter, like I wasn't being weighed down by this thing hanging down my back. No more would I need to pull my hair out from under me while laying down, nor would it get stuck behind me when I was sitting down or in my car. When she was all done, there was still a lot of carnage on the floor beneath me. She picked up my ponytail and put it in a ziploc bag for me, and told me I was doing a good thing, so I shouldn't be sad about losing my hair. I almost cried.

My roommate's jaw dropped when she saw it. "I can't believe you went so short!" she said. But nobody was happier about it than the cute neighbor. He was good not to say anything about it, but the sheer mass of hair on my head was always in his way. When I slept at his place, I slept with it up so as not to suffocate him. He tells me it looks better too. This morning, when I put my hair up in a pathetic little ponytail while making pancakes, he asked if I missed my hair. "Not yet," I said. "Do you miss my hair?" Without hesitating: "Nope."

Now that the really hot weather has set in, I don't think I'll be missing it anytime soon.