Hair is a weird, weird thing. Really, it's just a mass of dead cells. As a girl who once had a lot of hair, however, I can say that it is easy to get attached to those dead cells. Now, when I say I had a lot of hair, I mean I had a LOT of hair: it was super long and super thick (whenever I dyed it the colorist charged me double). That scene from The Princess Diaries, when Paolo says, "Your hair...ees like a wolf" was the story of my life. In high school, my friends would stick things in my hair when I wasn't paying attention, so that all day long pencils and erasers would be constantly falling out of that beastly mass hanging from my head. But my hair was part of my identity. I didn't realize that until my sophomore year of college, when I donated eleven-ish inches of hair to Locks for Love. I went to a shindig for the Arts Department that night and I felt like a man. I couldn't find a balance: my masculine clothes made me feel boyish, and my feminine clothes made me feel too precious. Now, nine months and four-and-a-half inches after The Haircut, I've learned some interesting things. When my hair was long, I never brushed it and people would always ask me how I did my hair. When it was short and I didn't brush it, people would ask me if I was late that morning. Long hair can be braided easily or put up in a ponytail no problem. Short hair...can't. Long hair takes a year and a half to dry. Short hair dries with a gentle breeze. Long hair will make your neck ache. Short hair will not be a place for pencils and stray birds to nest. There are pros and cons to both. Ultimately I've decided that I'm just more of a beastly kind of girl, but I enjoyed my time on the shorter end of things.
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