Lyla’s journey

Ever since I was a child, I’ve always wanted to have very short hair. I never knew exactly why, but I have a suspicion of when it began. I must have been around ten years old, and at that time, my mother worked next to a salon – sometimes, after school, I had to go to her office before going home. One of those days, when we’re getting at my mother’s workplace, I saw through the window of the salon a very beautiful young woman sitting in the chair. She had long, wavy, blonde hair that she wore loose, and it cascaded over her shoulders. During those seconds as I passed by the door, I didn’t take my eyes off that figure. They were just a few seconds, but I remember them as if they were much longer, as if time had slowed down at that moment. I remember taking the last few steps before reaching the office door and no longer seeing her when she realized she was being observed, and in a brief moment, I only saw the hint of a smile directed at me. Then, I entered my mother’s office and waited for her to finish up before we could leave. It was about forty minutes before we left, and as I walked down the sidewalk, I looked back towards the salon, hoping to see the woman still there. To my surprise, I saw the woman now with very short hair. She was still beautiful, perhaps even more so than before. It was again just a brief glimpse when I saw her standing, facing the mirror, smiling, adjusting her freshly cut hair, as short as Mia Farrow’s in “Rosemary’s Baby” – I only learned that reference much later in my life, but the association with that woman was almost immediate. Since then, I’ve held an admiration for that woman, for her unique beauty, her radical decision, and the free spirit that she seemed to possess. I wanted to be like her.

 

My parents were quite conservative, so my initial approach to my transformation was completely frustrating. They took it with great astonishment, which was even a surprise to me when I asked to cut my hair. They would repeat phrases like “women should have long hair!” without any further arguments. I had straight, hazelnut-brown hair, all the same length, reaching my waist. The most I had was a trim every two months that my mother did in our bathroom, always cutting just about two inches.

 

A few years passed – I was sixteen at the time, when I decided to do it myself since I didn’t have permission. And as much as I wanted to get rid of that hair, I also felt a great deal of nervousness. First, because my parents would freak out, who knows what kind of punishment they’d put me through. Second, because I had never seen myself any other way, I was somewhat attached to that image and to my own hair; what if I didn’t like it? What if I felt ugly? I spent a few weeks wrestling with this feeling until one night, after making sure my parents were asleep, I went to the bathroom and grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen. I placed them on the sink and stared at myself in the mirror for a few minutes. Was I really going to do this? I was shaking but I picked up the scissors and, with my fingers, selected a strand that covered my face. I opened the scissors and positioned them against the strand, roughly at neck level. I was going to start with a gentler approach – couldn’t be so radical. My legs were trembling, but at the same time, I felt an excitement I had never felt before. My fingers were about to close the scissors when I heard the door to my parents’ room open. Shortly after, I heard footsteps coming in my direction. It was only a matter of seconds before I had to get rid of the scissors, and the bathroom door swung open. My dad found it strange that I was there, but I came up with some random excuse and returned to my room. I couldn’t believe it. The plan still lingered in my mind for a while, but I ended up not doing anything. 

 

A couple of years later, I graduated from high school and was heading to college in another state. For the first time, I would be away from my parents, and I longed for this moment almost daily. The vacation before my departure was almost a torture. Of course, there was the hair issue, but all the other things I couldn’t do, like dating, coming home late, all that stuff that controlling parents do. On the day I arrived at the campus, the first thing I wanted to do was find a place to get my hair cut. I settled my things in the dorm and went into town to look for a salon or… I don’t know, even a barbershop would do. Apparently, the only salon was closed, but I spotted a small barbershop on a corner. There was no one inside, but it was open. I walked in, called for someone, and got no response. I tried again until I heard a voice telling me to wait. I heard the voice getting closer until a door at the back opened.

 

— Hi! Sorry, I was alone and needed to use the restroom! Um, how can I help you?

She was a slightly older girl than me.

— Um… hi! Are you… are you in charge of the barbershop?

— Oh, yeah. I mean, It’s my dad’s. He asked me to stay here while he takes care of some things, but he hasn’t returned yet.

— Is he going to be long? I was looking for a place to cut my hair…

— Ah, well, look, I don’t know; it’s been a couple of hours since he left, but he sent me a message saying it might take a while. But, well, there’s a salon about two blocks from here…

— Yeah, I passed by there, but it was closed.

— Oh, bummer. But, um… how do you want to cut it?

— Short!

— Wow, your hair is really long. Are you really cutting it all off?

— Yeah, actually, I think I’ll do it myself at home.

I turned to head back to campus when she called out to me.

— Wait! … Maybe, um… Maybe I can help…

— Well, you cut hair?

— … I learned a few things from my dad, plus I cut my own sometimes.

— That’s fine with me!

— You can sit here. Wow, your hair is very beautiful. Have you never cut it?

— Short, no.

— Wow, I don’t know if I’d have the courage…

Her hair wasn’t actually long. It was a dark wavy bob, just above her shoulders.

— But, I mean, your hair is already short, right?

— Yeah, but, like, the courage to make such a transformation, you know? Have you thought about how you want to cut it?

I wish I could show her the picture of Mia Farrow and ask her to cut it just like that. A really short pixie. The words piled up in my mouth, I took out my phone to show her, but I didn’t even have the courage to Google her.

— I think… like, about the same length as yours, maybe?

— Ah, a long bob? That’s good; I’m used to cutting my own!

She covered me with a cape and went to get her tools.

— So, are you here to study?

— Yeah, actually, I’m a freshman.

— That’s great! What are you planning to study?

— Journalism, I think. Maybe literature.

— Cool. I wanted to study arts myself, but it wasn’t the right time yet.

She combed my hair and tied it into a loose ponytail.

— Ready?

The butterflies in my stomach seemed like they wanted to escape through my mouth. I was about to fulfill a dream, but I was still nervous. Feeling her touch, combing, and threatening my hair was also… exciting?!

— Mm-hmm… — even my breathing was heavy. I couldn’t even articulate a simple “yes.”

*Schick… schnick… snick…*

That sound of the scissors cutting through my ponytail, shearing the strands, echoes in my head to this day. She finished cutting and held, like a trophy, that nearly forty-centimeter ponytail.

— Wow! So… already regretting it? — I saw her expression in the mirror, something between surprise and happiness. I absorbed the same feeling and smiled too. I smiled for finally giving in to my desires… I looked in the mirror and saw the real me. The haircut still needed some adjustments, but I was already happy because there was no turning back.

— Gosh, my head feels so much lighter!

— It must be, there was so much hair! I’ll leave it with you; you can donate it to an organization that makes wigs for children with cancer.

— Alright…

— What now? Can I style it? I mean, do you think this length looks good?

The hair now ended right at shoulder level. I ran my fingers through it, and for the first time, there wasn’t the same length as before, so it felt strange when, before reaching halfway, there was no more hair to slide through.

— So, um… I think this length looks good, just a little shaping, right?

— Yes, do you want me to keep it straight? I think we can cut a side bang so it’s not all the same length…

— I think… yeah, I think it could be. — I didn’t know what to ask for; I wanted to try all the hairstyles at once.

She continued cutting, refining the work, adjusting the ends, and created a side bang that reached the tip of my nose.

— Well, I think that’s it, right? … Oh, I didn’t even ask your name!

— Oh, right. It’s Lyla. And yours?

— I’m Amanda.

— Nice to meet you…

— Well, if you need any more help, just give me a call!

— Oh, thanks. I really liked it! … How much is it?

— Ah, no big deal. Let’s just say you were my guinea pig, okay?

— Hehe, sure thing. Thank you!

 

I said goodbye and left. I couldn’t stop looking at myself on my phone screen. I was a different person, finally – me! I was already looking forward to the next haircut, trying out different looks, who knows, maybe one day… buzzing it?! Oh, God…

 

A little over a year later, I felt that desire manifesting again. By this time, my parents already knew that I no longer had long hair. They were disappointed, but I think they understood that I was an adult, and they wouldn’t complain anymore, no matter what I did. I wanted to shorten my hair again, maybe at lip length, like the Italian exchange art student – she reminded me of Natalie Portman in “Leon.” Would Amanda be able to cut my hair like that? My biggest aspiration was a pixie cut like the one I saw in my childhood, on that day passing by the salon’s door. But it was still a distant dream. I knew the time would come, but I wasn’t ready yet – as much as I imagined myself walking around with my nape and ears exposed.

 

One weekend, my roommate went on a trip, and I was alone. I felt the desire spreading through my body again. I remembered when I was about to cut my own hair in the bathroom at my parents’ house. I think the desire took control of my actions again, and just like that, I found myself, once more, facing a mirror, holding the scissors. My hair had grown since I cut it for the first time; it was already down to my chest. I separated a strand, positioned the scissors, and…

 

 *schnick*

 

… in one stroke, I cut about eight inches of hair. Dumbfounded, I held the strand for a moment until I realized what I had just done. The remaining hair was a bit above chin-length! It had never been so short! I continued cutting, but I could see that I wasn’t doing a good job – it was a bit uneven, with some parts longer than others, and every time I tried to fix it, it ended up getting even shorter without actually being aligned. Not satisfied, I wanted to cut a short fringe as well, but I did it as I had learned from some videos I watched of girls cutting their own hair: they left it slightly longer and gradually trimmed it to the right length. I had never seen myself with bangs either. I think I might have had them as a child, but I obviously don’t remember; I only saw them in old photos. I cut them to eye length and made them straight. It was easier because I could see directly in the mirror.

I think I managed to make the fringe “okay-ish“, a bit above the eyebrows, but I still needed to fix the rest. I thought I couldn’t do it on my own, and I left hoping to find Amanda at her father’s barbershop. I put on a cap and went out. I crossed the campus and went to the town. I was very lucky because she was inside, even though the door was closed, she was there, sweeping the floor. I knocked on the glass. She saw me and it took her a moment to recognize me.

 

— …Lyla?! Is that you?

— Hey…

— What are you doing here, girl?

— Well… um, you said if I needed help again, I could look for you, so… — I took off the cap and revealed the messiest bob ever.

— No way! Ha ha ha ha!

— No, don’t laugh!

— Sorry, but what happened, Lyla?

— I messed up on my own…

— Okay, come in, I think I can fix it… And this fringe?

— I know, stupid idea…

— No, no, it actually kind of works. Let’s see…

 

Amanda combed my hair and tried to make it as straight as possible to assess the situation.

 

— Wow, it’s quite short at the back. Did you do it with a mirror?

— I did, but only one, so I couldn’t see the back.

— I know what to do, I’ll try to create a slightly diagonal line, connecting the front to the back. 

— ‘kay, I trust you.

 

I felt something when I said that, as if I was giving Amanda complete control over my hair, as if I could only accept my fate. She wet my hair and combed it again, then she cut it with great care to make it as aligned as possible. Gradually, I saw the cut taking shape in the mirror.

 

— well… I think I did it, Lyla. Here, take a look. — She positioned a mirror behind me so I could also see the cut made at the back. There were some tiny hairs just below the root line; they were very fine and short.

— If you want, I can clean up the nape, but I’ll need to use clippers, okay?

— Clean up?

— Yes, remove those hairs that are on the nape.

— Oh, sure! That’s fine with me.

 

Amanda turned on her father’s clippers, and I was startled by the noise it made in the room. The buzzing made me a little nervous, especially when she brought it close to my neck.

 

— Just lower your head a bit…

 

I heard the machine scrape a few strands and touch my skin. It was exhilarating. In a matter of moments, she turned it off and showed me the result in the mirror again.

 

— There you go, perfect!

— Wow, you’re like a magician, Amanda.

— Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that complicated. 

— um… How can I thank you?

— You don’t have to…

— Seriously, if you won’t take my money, at least let me owe you one, okay?

— Alright, Lyla, haha. Just make sure you won’t try cutting your hair on your own again, okay?

 

I left, even more elated than the first time. I felt the cool breeze on my nape, and I couldn’t stop running my hands over the shaved skin. I felt beautiful, confident, happy… More and more like the girl I had seen in my childhood.

 

The following days were interesting because I noticed people’s looks in my direction. My roommate was shocked when she saw it. I was a bit embarrassed and didn’t know what to say when people asked why I had cut my hair. Sometimes I just said I was trying something new but regretted it, although, in reality, I was happier than ever with my new look.

 

Years went by, and I finally graduated. I moved to a big city in another state, living on my own. I was job hunting at newspapers and still had to figure my life out. I went to some interviews but hadn’t received any callbacks yet. I was at home, and once again, the desire came back, stronger than ever. I thought it was time. I thought of Amanda – would she give me a pixie cut? I figured it was better not to do this at home, no matter how much the urge tempted me. My hair had grown quite a bit since the bob; I hadn’t cut it so radically again. It was now a medium-length cut, just below my shoulders.

I looked online for some salons nearby and found a friendly one, not too expensive, with good reviews. I called to see if they had an available time, and luckily, there was no appointment for the next thirty minutes. I went there immediately. The woman who greeted me had her hair pulled up in an improvised bun. She might have been around forty years old, was pretty, and a bit taller than me.

 

— Hello? Are you Lyla, the one who called me a moment ago?

— Hi, yes, it’s me!

— Nice to meet you, Lyla. What are we doing today?

— Actually, I came for a haircut.

— Trimming the ends?

— Hehe, um… not really. I came for a somewhat… radical change.

— Wow, how are you thinking of going?

— I wanted something like this, really short. — I showed her some pixie references, including Mia Farrow’s.

— Well, you’re brave. Your hair is beautiful, but with a face like that, any cut will look good.

— Ha! Thank you!

— Let’s go, then. Are you really sure?

— I am, you can cut it. — This time, I managed to speak.

She covered me with a cape, then combed my hair, divided it into sections, and gave me one last chance, positioning the scissors at my ear level and looking at me through the mirror. I nodded. She cut it. A long piece fell to the ground. I hadn’t even imagined I had that much hair. I felt shivers down my spine. I was actually doing it! She continued, and little by little, a new image emerged – one side of my head no longer had long hair to cover my ear. I couldn’t help smiling. In the back, I no longer felt the strands touching my back or neck. The other side, the same way. She moved to the top, measured about two fingers, and cut the rest. Finally, the bangs. She combed, stretched, and cut. What was left barely covered half of my forehead. I found it amazing. I almost automatically smiled. I had always wanted to see myself that way. Ingrid gave the finishing touches, trimming ends and measuring lengths until she was done.

 

— I think that’s it, Lyla! There’s no turning back now!

— Wow, Ingrid, I don’t need to go back! I love it!

— It suits you so well.

— Wow, I can’t even imagine not having my hair like this before!

 

I stood up, approached the mirror with a broad smile, and adjusted my hair with my hands. I felt beautiful, confident, and free. My true self.