I’ve pretty much had long hair my entire adult life. There was that requisite experimental phase in college when I went super short, falling prey to the androgynous look that seized the mid-90s and sought to make everyone look like a strung-out Ellen DeGeneres. (CK One, anyone?) I started with a cute chin-length bob, but with each salon appointment my hair became progressively shorter, (bleach) blonder and, well, manlier. What started out as chic became a severe Kate Gosselin ‘do (before she’d even come on the scene to claim it), edged into A Flock of Seagulls territory and then finally became this:

There was a reason my nephews called me “Aunt Jo-Man.” I’d had enough. It took me more than two years to grow my yellow Tweety Bird buzz cut into something redeemable. And so I traded in the harsh androgynous aesthetic and embraced my natural, feminine locks. There was something more authentic about it to me. Something very Next Chapter, and what what my mom would sum up as “Time to grow up, already. And take you nose ring out and start carrying a pocket-book, while you at it.” (Long story. Another blog post.)

So for about 10 years, I’ve sported some subtle iteration of the same boob-length hair. It works. It’s safe. And the dudes of the species (most importantly, my husband) seem to like it. It’s become a fixed part of my identify, not unlike my writing or my Polish heritage. (Have I mentioned I’m Polish yet?) Still, as much as my long hair has become a safety blanket (a curly, light brown one growing right out of my head), I’ve also become bored by it. For a few years now, I’ve been itching to make a change, ready for the next Next Chapter. With each hair appointment, I’ve threatened — in spite of my husband’s gentle protests — to return with a dramatically short ‘do. But I was always bluffing, and he called it each time. I wasn’t ready to do the deed. Then came our engagement last year. I knew our wedding wasn’t the time to be taking scissors to my hair. There would be too much photo and video documentation if the result was unfortunate. And so it would be another year of stale, boob-length hair. Continue reading →