When I was 15 years old, my hair length reached the middle of my back. I hadn’t tainted my hair with color yet. Ran to the salon for a relaxer touch-up every six to seven months, and a blow out and deep condition every two weeks.
My hair was arguably to die for.
I used to fear my annual trim because my long hair was everything to me. My stubborness caused my ends to sometimes split and grow in unevenly, so my beautician had to, well, snip-snip! All that length shrunk to merely being a few inches past my shoulders. But, my mane was still pretty long and what society would dub “desirable.”
Fast forward a few years, I’m no longer so attached to the strands growing out of my head. My constant need to change up my appearance and look frequently features my hair. For me, a cut that would prompt me saying “I’m officially bald headed” was having my hair just slightly above my shoulders. Very dramatic. But after playing around with lengths and layers, I still felt unfulfilled by my experience with short hair. It was never Rihanna-crop short – daring, sexy and bold. It wasn’t even a Taraji P. Henson-style bob, which is layered to perfection and fabulous. I realized it was time to stop tip-toeing around the scissors and really push my stylist to just chop of my hair.