After a particularly awful haircut three summers ago, I decided I was sick of it all. Why bother getting my hair lopped off every few weeks if I just end up looking like I was about to start 7th grade? While I may have worn a (somewhat strained) smile on the outside as I sat in the swiveling barber’s chair that fateful day, only one thing was going through my mind: never again.
Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. The truth of the matter? After the same look for 19 years, I was ready for a change.
I don’t know where I got the idea, really. Maybe it was this all-encompassing feeling that we’re supposed to reinvent ourselves in college. Maybe it was a subconscious desire to compensate for my complete lack of beard-growing ability. Maybe I just thought it would look cool; and besides, what better time to grow out my hair than when I had at least a couple of years before a real job interview?
Whatever the reason, much to my mother’s dismay, I went an entire two years without a real haircut.
After about six months of the “oh God, I look like a deformed, ginger Shirley Temple” phase, it actually started to grow on me. When it finally got long enough to tie back in a ponytail (around the same time I switched my major to Environmental Studies…coincidence?), however, I started to notice a change in people’s general attitudes toward me.
When passing through Haslam Business on the way to class, I could almost feel the confused glances thrown my direction, as if to say, “What the heck are you doing? You don’t belong in here.” And more than just looks, too. As I was waiting in line at Einstein’s one day, two students were discussing their required reading, Bill McKibben’s “Eaarth.” As they lamented on the woes of freshman life and the difficulty of 14 credit hours, one of them threw a glance my direction and said in a hushed voice, “I don’t even know why we have to read it. It’s a book for hippies.”
I found this fairly interesting. With my new-found hair style, I was automatically assumed to be less of a person compared to the social norm. Although, with my tie-dye shirts and Chacos, I was probably asking for it.
As the year went on and my hair grew longer, I simply got used to it. The ponytail turned into a man-bun. I wore it down occasionally, but after a retail worker passed behind me with an “excuse me, ma’am,” I stopped doing that as much.
Finally, after two years of obnoxiously long showers and an ungodly amount of bobby pins, I was ready to go back. While it had been a fun experiment that made concerts that much more fun, I was sick of managing it. Plus I didn’t really feel like it looked like me; I looked like a completely different person. So, contrary to my hasty promise to myself two years previous, I went and lopped off my hair again.
In the end though, I’m glad I did it. It was an interesting experience. Plus, I was able to donate 11 inches of hair, which I hope made somebody a little happier. And I’ll be honest; it’s nice to not receive a stifled eye-roll when I bring up my major.
Kevin Ridder is a senior in environmental studies. He can be reached at [email protected].
