On Cutting My Own Hair

Against conventional wisdom, I take myself too seriously. I’m highly organized. Extraordinarily Type A. Particular to a fault. I can admit these things.

Perhaps that is why it is so fun, in the midst of all that, to also be someone who decides—after a series of morning meetings looking at my reflection in the corner video of my computer screen and not loving how my hair looks—I could play salon. 

A couple emails later, and trusting that I remembered how to do it from the last time, I looped my hair into pigtails and grabbed the scissors. While it might have behooved me to refresh with a tutorial video—or at least to remember how thick my Italian hair is—I shrugged and set to gnawing across the ponytail. 

Immediately uneven. 

I placed the two clumps of hair, still held together by a brown scrunchie, onto my desk and began the fixing process. About 10 minutes later, I was back to work, satisfied with my new appearance. 

That night, lathering (less) shampoo (than usual), I thought about how much joy I get out of cutting my own hair. In many ways, it feels counter to who I am. As mentioned at the top, I am a certain personality. I think scheduling and planning ahead could be an extreme sport. Yet in this one silly instance, I get to not overthink. I get to just trim my hair because why not? It’ll grow back. And, in any case, it’s my hair to cut, isn’t it?

I think if you’ve ever lost control of your body through illness or injury, violence or violation, there is something freeing about reclaiming that agency. How beautifully powerful to be able to flex this muscle on something so low stakes. Something so forgiving. 

Rather than signaling something that requires a wellness check, cutting my hair feels, then, like a healing exercise. It is my hair to cut. It is my mess to make. 

Against conventional wisdom, I take myself too seriously. But sometimes, I cut my own hair. And in those small moments of self-directed bodily autonomy, I am reminded how deeply serious it actually is. How deeply serious it is to have agency. To remind yourself that your body is yours alone. To act in ways that reclaim your independence. To heal, to truly heal.