The process of getting your hair done is a state of being. Nothing else quite like it and it’s genuinely a full body and mind experience that yes, can just be something that you do “for funsies” or whatever. But for me, no, my hair changes when I need to change. It’s a physical representation of my growing pains as I’m desperately trying to grow the fuck up but not look like I’m trying too hard to get there.
A hair cut is a freshening up, spring cleaning of my person and it helps me clear out whatever I’ve been working through and move the fuck on. On to something new onto something that needs more of my attention than my relationship anxieties than my fear of being lied to than X, Y, and Z.
This hair dye and hair cut mean something to me. They are a physical manifestation of my fervent hope that my anxieties will lessen. Perhaps without the loud, bright red hair that I’ve had, I can be more quiet, more calm, and relaxed about the unavoidable uncertainties of my life here on planet Earth.
I mean, I hope it does.