I am a self-proclaimed hair addict. I change my hair as often as I change my underwear. My mom thinks I’m obsessed, though compared to my boyfriend, at least she still listens. My boyfriend refuses to look at my latest pictures paired with the question, “Should I cut my hair like this?” He thinks I’m crazy, but my excuse is that my hair grows too fast. Realistically, it does. But that doesn’t mean I have to change the style every time I see my stylist. Still, I keep telling myself that changing my hair is my form of expression. Regardless, I enjoy experimenting.
This so-called obsession began when I chopped my very long hair into a mid-length bob following a painful breakup. I didn’t realize I was creating a monster, but since then, my hair has remained short despite numerous attempts to return to a longer length. With that said, I’ve tried every short style imaginable—all but one: the pixie.
Since I was young, I appreciated a great short hairstyle. From Gwen Stefani’s early No Doubt days to Kate Moss’ 2001 pixie, I dreamed of chopping my hair short. Always acknowledging the pixie, I never attempted it due to the ridiculous youth insecurities like the pressure to fit in and my small town’s lack of appreciation for something different. I always knew I would eventually take the plunge. It was only a matter of time.
The right time came last year. I’d just gotten my first real job as a copywriter at an advertising firm, and I had a little less than a year left of college. Most importantly, I finally felt comfortable with my life after years of being unbalanced. Everything was finally coming together. I carefully planned the big day with my hairdresser of three years who wouldn’t let me back down.
Until then, I prepared. Almost to my shoulders, my hair was the longest it had been in a while. I needed to get used to short hair again so I got a pre-pixie haircut in preparation for the big day. I also started collecting photos not only to get an idea of what I wanted, but also for inspiration. My favorite celebrity pixies included Keira Knightley, Selma Blair, Natalie Portman and Agyness Deyn. Enough said, I was inspired.
On the big day I carried my folder full of photos into the salon in my silk Anthropologie dress. My source of support, my best friend, greeted me at the door. In the salon chair, I carefully pulled each picture from the folder and explained to my hairdresser my expectations. She thought I was crazy, but I had to get it right.
It was wrong—a complete disaster. I hadn’t cried after a haircut since seventh grade, but the tears rolled down my face as my best friend hugged me in the parking lot of the salon. I felt naked. I was exposed. I was a boy. I called myself many names that night that should not be repeated.
The pixie brought on a strange feeling I couldn’t explain. It affected me in ways I never expected. Having gotten used to jeans and a t-shirt, I dug through my closet for skirts, dresses and heels. I wanted to wear earrings. I bought loads of headbands and barrettes. I could no longer hide behind my hair, which was exuberating and scary all at the same time.
Though I tried (hard), I never got used to the pixie. After a few trims, I started the process of growing my hair back into my chin-length cut. I can’t decide if it was my lack of confidence or my continuous desire for change. I can certainly say I tried the style. Currently, I wear a shorter than usual, asymmetrical bob, though its time for a new style. I’m thinking about giving the pixie another shot. Who knows, the second time might be the charm.