I got a haircut.

It's not good.

This post is about a bad haircut so I’m going to allow myself a bit of ego stroking up front: one of the best compliments I ever got is that I was handsome. My features aren’t ultra feminine and so it felt like it fit, it felt honest and surprising. It was a rare remark about my looks that actually made me feel flattered and sexy. It might even have made me blush. I’m not (or at least have never felt) dainty or delicate or girly, but I have some things going for me and I generally know how to accentuate those things and the person who gave me that compliment was picking up what I was putting down.¹

My long and slightly unkempt hair is, I think, the crux of this handsome-but-in-a-feminine-way balance. I’m pretty low maintenance when it comes to my hair, by which I mostly mean I’m lazy. It’s thick but fine, wavy but not curly. I don’t dye it and I get it cut roughly twice a year. I don’t really style it. Most days I just blow dry my bangs (which I trim myself) and let the rest do what it will. If we’re doing something fancy I might straighten it. If we’re going out, I’ll use a little hairspray to keep my bangs in place. It’s not a boast or a brag. I’ve tried to maintain a more consistent routine, I’ve tried to put in effort, but I am fundamentally lazy.

Through much trial and error, I’ve found that a long shag with a full bang works for me. Sometimes I play with the precise shape of the bang but the baseline formula doesn’t change. It’s not polished, but it suits me. It’s forgiving and works with my wave and my face shape. Speaking of, I’ll lay my (face) cards on the table: I have a big head, a big forehead, a rectangular jaw, and a lot of face. Stylists laugh when I say this, but they don’t refute it. These are the facts! This is what I’m working with!

I put off finding a new stylist after we moved for as long as possible because I knew it would be a hassle. But we’re in the PNW now. People with my general vibe are a dime a dozen up here and I figured that would work in my favor. A couple weeks ago I decided it was time. I did a little research, I booked an appointment, and I made a little joke that I now believe cursed me because, reader, I deeply regret this haircut.²

I knew I was in trouble almost immediately. But how do you walk out of an appointment just after meeting the person because their vibe is off? So I just said what I always say: “I’m liking the length, I just want to clean it up and give it some body, I like a lived-in shag.” And I sat there making small talk and chiding myself for being judgmental because who knows, maybe she was actually about to give me the best haircut of my life. At the end I smiled and said, “Looks great, thanks.”

It’s not this short but I have had a version of this cut

And then I stepped out of the salon and immediately put my hood up. I got in my car and ran my hands through it, muttering, “no, no, no.” I got home and Ben said, “It’s not bad. It’s just…” and then trailed off and we stared at each other for a long minute and he literally couldn’t find the words so we started laughing. It’s not bad. It might be fine, even, on someone else, it’s just not right for me.

Actually…idk why I’m still lying to myself. It is bad. It looks like a wig, and one that’s too small for my head. It looks like that guy from Shrek, but a little longer. It looks like I had a bob that I’ve been growing out for months and now it’s shapeless and lanky and weird. It looks like someone else’s hair, someone who has a fundamentally different style and vibe, and not in a good way. Sometimes that’s what you want. A haircut can be transformative, it can give you a new outlook, it can change your whole deal for the better. This, unfortunately, is not where I’m at.

Another handsome blockhead

You always have to give a new cut a few days. You’ve gotta wash it and style it yourself. You’ve gotten get used to the change in your reflection. “Maybe it’s just shorter than I wanted,” I tried to reason with myself, “that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad.” But I’ve slept on it all week. I’ve washed it several times and styled it several ways. It’s bad. It’s like an anti-haircut. The type of haircut that makes me look more in need of a haircut than when I went in. The type of haircut that makes all my clothes look wrong. It’s lifeless, DOA. The only thing I can do is wait it out.

Even so, it’s not the worst haircut I’ve ever gotten. There was a solid year in college when I was cutting my own hair and not doing a good job of it. A regular at the coffee shop I worked at — a man who worked at a salon down the street — got to the counter one day and said, “What’s going on with your hair?” And I said, “What do you mean?” And he said “Turn around.” And so I did and he said (sounding rightfully concerned), “You need to come see me.” But did I? No! I was a 20-year-old with a nascent drinking problem living on tips! I didn’t have haircut money!

It’s not the second worst haircut I’ve gotten, either. There was a time when I would have won an Anton Chigurh lookalike contest, easily. You don’t learn hard truths about yourself like “I have a big head and a lot of face and require a full bang” without having lived through a cut this bad. And this was pre-Covid days. I had to go to work with this hair. I couldn’t hide behind a remote job and just keep my camera off. I had to look my coworkers in the eye as they took it in and made the polite decision to not say anything. The office dress code didn’t allow for hats. I had to move through the world looking like the least sexy version of Javier Bardem for MONTHS.

His pallor feels personal

So, no, it’s not the worst cut I’ve had. But it’s not good. I’ve been working my way through the stages of grief and have yet to fully arrive at acceptance.

“It’s just ego,” I said, staring at my reflection shortly after I got home, trying to convince Ben (and myself) that I wasn’t really that upset, “It’s just vanity.” To which Ben (wisely) said nothing other than some non-committal noises, keeping his face neutral, and waiting to get a better read on my emotional state.

And it is just a question of vanity, but there’s still an emotional component. I feel terribly unsexy, the very opposite of handsome. And though Ben is doing his best to buoy my confidence, it’s a little ego blow every time I catch my reflection. It’s just so inconvenient. I lost at least a year of growth! It will take so long to undo this!

But there is a silver lining: the bangs aren’t horrible and I can just fit it into a small bun — thank GOD and also WHY god?!?! it was down to my mid-back before — so I’ll just be wearing it up for the next couple of months. 

And also, thankfully, I find it very funny. I don’t have any major events coming up, so me and my bad haircut can safely sit at home, giggling about how silly we look and biding our time.

I knew “fucked up bangs” was the look for me early on

1. I ended up marrying him.

2. It’s hard to find someone who really gets your hair and what will work with your particular face shape. I really lucked out with my last stylist, she nailed it every time. (Peggy, I miss you!)