I saw V for Vendetta when I was 15 years old, and I remember leaving the theater thinking two things: 1. I’m in love with Natalie Portman and 2. I want to buzz my head like her. She looked… rebellious, powerful, perfectly androgynous. I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my hair–like most women, I imagine. Coloring my hair since 6th grade, and blow drying/teasing/curling it to make it more voluminous, has not been kind on these locks.  

I didn’t buzz my hair in high school. I thought about it again in college, but opted to only buzz half my head. (The growing out process for that was long and painful.) Two years ago, I contemplated it once more and asked my students if they thought I should do it, to which I received mixed reviews. Several months later, when one of my students asked why I didn’t go through with it, I told her flat out: “I’m glad I didn’t do it. That would have been a mistake.”

Now, here I am, freshly shorn. When I had the familiar “I should buzz my head” thought two days ago, I knew something was up. And yet, instead of thinking, “Hey, maybe don’t make a huge decision like this during a global pandemic,” I thought, “Let’s make a pro/con list.” Pro/con lists for me are just an excuse for me to do whatever it is I really want to do in the first place, but with the added reassurance of “I thought hard about this.” They make me feel like I’ve worked through things logically. When really, it’s always been about me working through things emotionally. 

My pro list looked like this: Fulfilling a lifelong dream, Won’t have to worry about doing my hair, Nice to try something new. I only had one con: I might look ugly. My biggest fear, the greatest (and only) potential con, was that I would look ugly with no hair, that other people would think I look ugly, that people wouldn’t find me attractive. 

Something about that con buried itself deep. It suddenly felt shameful, embarrassing even, for me not to buzz my head out of fear of not being visually appealing to others. Was I put on this earth to be pretty? Or was I put on this earth to experience life? (It’s a rhetorical question. We all know the answer.)

I made an appointment. The hairdresser double-checked that it was what I wanted. It was. She handed me the clippers and I made a move. Did it feel good to buzz my own head? Yes. Did I immediately regret it? In a way. It’s a disorienting feeling to see, in real time, how a part of your identity is changing. To see how other people’s assumptions about you will change, too. 

Everything feels… different. The wind on my head, the way water trickles down my scalp, my pillow. Last night, I went to pull my hair up into a bun to wash my face. No need! Turns out washing my face just got a lot easier. Showers, easier. Morning routines, easier. Hair maintenance takes up an incredible amount of brain power, will power, and time. 

But, things have gotten harder, too. It’s hard to accept that my hair will take a long time to get back to what it was. It’s hard to accept that I don’t adhere to the traditional beauty standards given to women. It’s hard to look at myself and to have to change the narrative I’ve spun around my appearance, the moment it’s happening – to combat the inner commentary of “You look too masculine.” 

I knew this would be difficult, and that’s precisely why I did it. I have a habit of throwing myself into situations where I force myself to grow. Here I am, growing. I no longer have hair. I can no longer hide behind my hair. I must deal with every part of this myself. And I’m not going to pretend that I think I look drop dead gorgeous.. because I don’t feel that way. I’m not going to pretend like I haven’t thought, “What did I do?,” or that it doesn’t make me a little insecure when people stare.. because it does. And I’m not going to pretend like I haven’t cried, because of course I have. I’m in mourning. 

But, what this experience is giving me, what it will continue to give me, makes it worth it. To have to confront where I get my sense of beauty and worth from, to have to be more creative with outfits and makeup and, eventually, super short hairstyles. And, ultimately, for doing something I’ve been waffling over for 15 years. I can now die knowing what it feels like to have a buzzed head. And that feels good.