Identity
A baby emo, circa 2008
When I was fourteen, I decided I wanted to grow out my hair. It was my simple, inoffensive way to rebel. I wanted to be edgy, I wanted to stand out, and I wanted to have some sort of agency over myself. I remember my first attempt at a “cool and edgy” profile picture on MySpace: I was home alone, didn’t know what a hair straightener looked like, much less how to use one, and just combed my hair straight down in my face and took a picture on my mom’s laptop webcam. Looking back it’s pretty cringey, but at the time I was just excited to be different.
From baby emo to adolescent emo. It was only supposed to be highlights.
After that, I went through different phases. I accidentally dyed it blonde, I straightened it daily, I started tying it back. Eventually I even dyed it blue! It didn’t matter how old I was, but my self-expression always seemed to revolve around my hair, and I ended up building my entire identity around it. My hair was the one thing that was truly, completely mine that I could do anything I wanted with. Everybody knew me for my hair; it was long, it was (mostly) well-kept, and it made me me.
The “Founding Father” isn’t a good look for anyone
All through high school I kept it long. People would ask if I was ever going to cut it, and I always responded “I don’t know. Maybe one day.” It grew out of the awkward, baby emo phase and fell well past my shoulders. I considered myself a metalhead, and the hair was an important part of my image. After all, what good is headbanging without long hair, right?
Eventually, at the end of my freshman year of college, I decided I wanted to cut it. I was going through a rough patch, and decided that I wanted to reinvent myself. New hair, new me, right? Except it was kind of an awkward haircut and I didn’t really like it that much. See, if I used product and put time into it and got it to slick back just right it looked fine! Otherwise it just kinda fell around my face to the bottom of my eyes and I looked like someone stole me from Saved by the Bell.
So I grew it back out. I knew I’d be comfortable with it, and honestly? I missed it. I went through all of the stages again: short, a little longer, kinda awkward, really awkward, finally being able to tie it back and pretend it’s not awkward, and finally I had long hair once more.
For the next five years I let it stay long. I trimmed it twice a year or so and primarily wore it in a clip for work and school. I tried to ignore it when my hairline started receding; I was completely oblivious when it started thinning on top. It had gone from a part of my image to a security blanket that I wasn’t willing to give up.
I’ll admit it: I don’t like change. Change is hard, and scary, and uncomfortable. Right now, I’m going through a period in life where change is necessary and important. In a little more than three months, I’ll be finished with my Master’s degree. I’m looking for new jobs and new apartments in new cities, and that means that I have to stop ignoring real life and be willing to accept change. One of the easiest ways I could think to do this (while simultaneously accepting my receding hairline and enhancing my potential job prospects) was to cut my hair.
So I did.
It was an incredibly hard decision. I cried for half an hour the night before and considered canceling my appointment. It’s been hard to get used to. Two weeks later I’m still trying to make sure it doesn’t get caught in the car door and under my body when I sleep, and I still get kind of sad thinking about it. Cutting my hair felt like part of me was leaving; a part of me that I had grown very attached to was going away, and I couldn’t undo it.
At the same time, it’s felt somewhat liberating. I feel like a new person, in some ways; I feel like I’m ready to move on to the next phase of my life and grow into a “real” adult (despite none of that being true).
It’s okay to form an identity around a part of you that you like. It’s okay to use something as a security blanket, to keep you comfortable when life gets difficult. It’s important, though, to realize that change is a part of life. Things are always going to change and move forward whether you’re ready for it or not. Sometimes things that you’re very happy with are going to change, and it’s normal to want to find something to cling on to. I’m struggling with this a LOT right now. I’ll be 25 in just a few months, and the concept of the big 3-0 approaching in the next couple of years regularly drives me to existential panic (but that’s a blog post for another time).
I guess what I’m trying to say is that life can be scary. Terrifying, even. The world moves forward more quickly than most of us would like, and none of us are ever REALLY prepared for what gets thrown at us. Some people deal with it better than others (I’m definitely one of the “others”), and some people end up clinging on to the past and find themselves unable to grow. We all have to learn to let go and accept progress. Just because things are changing doesn’t mean it’s bad; sometimes, change can be good.