MakeItShort
I’m a 30-year-old high-school English teacher, having started my career when I was 24. I mostly love my job, but 2 years ago, something that I had been tolerating began to bother me. My students, their parents, my colleagues, my administrators, and everyone else in my professional life had commented on “how young” I looked. I know the stereotypical attitude is “what a great problem to have,” but I found it demeaning. Besides the fact that it’s inappropriate for people to comment on my appearance, it made me feel far less empowered and confident, to the point where I perceived my students treating me with less respect after a comment like that.
I had neat, healthy, upper-back-length hair, typically dressed in a sweater and comfortable but nice slacks, and wore a little makeup. I’m not super petite, but I’m on the shorter side. For whatever reason, this apparently looked “young” on me, and not in a good way.
I was talking to my husband, Chris, about this one night. He’s a great listener, but eventually I asked him for advice.
“It’s hard to say,” he said. “I’m biased because you look fantastic to me, and I don’t understand these comments — you look professional when you go to work. I mean, you don’t look like a stockbroker, lawyer or CEO, but why would you? Do women with those careers get comments that they look ‘old’ because they present themselves a certain way?”
I thought about this. “Well, Anne down the street has said that she thinks her face is ‘mature,’ and that her conservative look accentuates it. I don’t think she minds, necessarily. She has to meet with big, corporate clients, and has said she would have a totally different look if she were a computer programmer or artist or something.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. “I can see why Anne describes herself as looking ‘mature.’ She doesn’t look any older than she is, but she looks…serious? I can’t put my finger on it. You don’t look un-serious or silly, but you do have that spark, which I love. You look fun. I guess it makes sense that different people dress differently based on their features. I mean, Anne would probably not get those ‘young’ comments if she had your hair and your clothes.”
“Your features, your clothes, your hair and whatever else all combine together to give an impression. Do you think I should change anything to compensate for looking ‘fun?’ It sounds ridiculous to say, but I’m brainstorming here,”
I watched Chris puzzle over that for a minute. Finally, he asked, “What would that even look like?”
“Well,” I said, “what about a skirt and heels? It’s not really my thing, but I could try. That’s what Anne wears, but I don’t think it would make me look corporate. You know, because I have ‘that spark,'” I laughed.
Chris laughed, too. “We’re laughing, but it’s true! Anyway, give it a try for a while and see if you notice a difference. Nothing to lose.”
I thought for a minute and finally said, “Nothing to lose except the cost of a new wardrobe. The couple of skirts in the back of my closet are more like hippie skirts, and I’m sure they’re in awful shape. But what the hell, I never spend money on clothes, and we can afford it. Worst case, it doesn’t work and I’ll donate them.”
I went shopping the following Saturday, I would have to try this for at least a month to see if there was any change in the ‘young’ comments, so I figured I would need a handful of outfits, ideally mix-and-match. I settled on a few pencil skirts, one A-line skirt — all just below the knee — some collared white button-down tops, and two pairs of heels, one more open and the other one pumps. After trying things on, I was optimistic about my experiment. I looked the same, but different. I looked more professional.
I looked really good. I felt really good.
When I changed back into my regular clothes, I suddenly looked like a college student in the mirror. That was disconcerting and I began to see what others saw. I felt a little embarrassed.
Later that afternoon, when I got home, I told Chris how I had felt.
“Oh no, I don’t think you have a reason to feel self-conscious,” he said. “You do not look like a college student, and I mean that as a compliment. You’ve been putting yourself under a microscope all day and that would make anyone feel weird. Besides, you said you look great in the new clothes, right? Sounds like a successful experiment so far.”
I let out a deep breath and smiled. “Ok, I’ll try not to dwell on it. So….wanna see what I bought?”
Chris laughed. “Of course!”
A few minutes later, I emerged from the bedroom in a red pencil skirt, white silk blouse, and black pumps. Chris gaped.
“Ummm…what do you think?” I sheepishly asked.
“Wow.” That was all he said for a minute. Then he repeated it. “Wow.”
“Oh, come one, Chris! Stop joking around! What do you think?” I begged. Then I saw that he wasn’t joking. Actually, he looked like he might burst at any minute. “Really?” I asked.
“Wow. You look…amazing. I…I…wow,” was all he could say.
I giggled a little. “I feel great. I feel confident. I mean, I didn’t know you were gonna, uh, like it so much. But I’ll take it as a bonus!”
Chris was still a little speechless. “I…ok, you look amazing. Really, though, if I can, uh, forget I’m your husband for a second, you look more put-together, more professional, but not severe or stuffy. You look like you get respect. But you definitely don’t look like a stockbroker, you look just right. I meant every word the other day when I said you already looked great for your work, but this is just…perfect.”
I had to admit I was both relieved that Chris thought it was a professional improvement, and delighted that he obviously found it so attractive. I sat down next to him and gave him a big kiss. “What should we do tonight?”
————————
The next few weeks were a revelation to me. I showed up at work Monday in a new outfit and received lots of compliments — which was fine, and I guess I expected it. As long as the novelty wore off soon, I was ok with that. The last thing I wanted was people focusing on my appearance even more. I just wanted to counteract the ‘young’ comments. But, much to my surprise, I stopped even noticing what people said. I loved how I looked and felt great. Every few days, I would realize that I hadn’t gotten any comments at all — young, old, good, bad, indifferent. I had thought I would be on hyper alert for any little thing, but I wasn’t. I just got on with my day, focusing on my work.
I also realized that I no longer felt comfortable in my old work clothes, and that I hated how I looked in them. Some of these had doubled as my “going out” clothes, especially the slacks. The next time we were invited to a dinner party, I went out and bought some more skirts and coordinating casual tops, plus a couple of nice, but not fancy, dresses. I wore a gray wool skirt, black turtleneck and flats. I got a lot of compliments — again, fine in small doses — and felt more at ease than I had in a long time at a social gathering. I got pretty drunk, which is something I almost never do, but I didn’t overthink how much I was drinking like I usually do. It was a great night.
It wasn’t lost on Chris how much a simple wardrobe change had improved my mental well-being over just a few weeks. He remarked on this one night over dinner.
“So? What’s next?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Well, it looks like your clothing experiment has been a big success, right? You’ve seemed happier and less stressed, even at the end of a busy work day. This might be the most at peace I’ve ever seen you.”
I think I blushed a little. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’ve nailed it. That’s exactly how I feel. But what do you mean by, ‘what’s next?'”
“I mean, if this is the result of a relatively simple change, maybe there are other things? What if you started talking in a deeper voice, like Elizabeth Holmes?”
I cracked up and almost spit out my food. “Ha ha! That would be…interesting.” I paused to think for a minute. “Actually, there is something. I’m not sure I like my hair now that the rest of me looks so much better. It’s ok, but it’s not great. Now that I’m seeing myself differently, my hair does look sort of college student-y. Maybe I’ll make a hair appointment for after work one day next week.”
“I love your hair, but what do I know? Seems like something to try if you want. After all, it grows back if you don’t like it. What do you have in mind?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Just something more polished, I guess. I’ll ask Steve his opinion at the salon. He charges enough, he should be able to come up with something.”
The following Tuesday, I left work and drove to the salon. Steve had been doing my hair for a few years — meaning, he trimmed it about twice a year and I cleaned up the ends myself in between. I walked in and Steve was at the front desk looking at his phone.
“Hey!” he called out. “How are you, stranger?”
“Hey, Steve. I’m good, how are you?”
“Can’t complain. My previous appointment canceled so I’m all ready for you. You can go right to the chair.”
When I settled into the chair, I was facing the mirror. Steve came up behind me and started examining the ends of my hair. “It’s not too bad at all,” he said. “It’s pretty thick at the bottom but healthy.”
“Actually,” I said, “I want to do something different and I need your advice. I’ve been feeling like my hair doesn’t go with the rest of me. I want it to look like a real style, not just the default.”
Steve thought for a moment and looked me over. I was wearing a gray wool skirt, and a white button-up blouse with slightly billowing sleeves. “You know, there’s something different about you that I noticed as soon as you came in. I thought maybe it was just because I hadn’t seen you in a while, but you’re more dressed up, right? New job?”
“Same job, new me,” I laughed. “But, yeah, I changed my wardrobe and, honestly, I wish I had done it sooner. I feel great. Now I just need my hair to get with the program. I’ve never had a real coif.”
“Well, off the top of my head — haha — I think we should bring the length up a little,” he said, putting his hands on top of my shoulders. “And some side-swept bangs. I can cut it so it’s pretty easy for you to style it into a good, polished shape. What do you think?”
“I didn’t come in with a definite idea, so I’ll trust your judgement. I’m glad you said ‘polished,’ that’s exactly what I meant. This is gonna be the shortest I’ve ever had it, too” Then I added, with a mock fist-shake, “So you better know what you’re doing!” We both laughed.
Steve took me over to the sink to wash my hair. Then we went back to his station and I sat down. He pinned up a bunch of hair and started cutting the base length in back. It felt like a lot was coming off, but I was excited. I more of less closed my eyes and relaxed, trying not to pay too close attention to his every move. Now and then the scissors brushed my neck.
Eventually, he started with the blow dryer and I opened my eyes to look. He had cut long layers to soften up the perimeter round my face and was using a round brush to make it full and fluffy. The overall length was right at my shoulders, right where he had said, but the overall impression was that it was shorter. The ends curled under just slightly to give the bottom a rounded edge. The bags ended just at my eyebrows and were swept to the left. He used the brush and dryer to make the top full, with a subtle part to direct the bangs. I absolutely loved it.
When he was done, he brushed some stray hairs off my blouse, I brushed off my skirt, and I stood up. I stood in front of the mirror and — this is embarrassing — I almost teared up a little at what I saw. I was looking at a completely put-together professional woman. I had goosebumps. I thanked Steve profusely, paid him, and left.
When I came home, Chris was in his upstairs office. I called out to him and went up the stairs to show off.
“Wow,” he said. “I…wow.”
“Oh brother, not this again,” I said with an eye-roll.
“Babe…wow. You look fantastic.”
“Really, you like it?” I stupidly asked. I’m not the type to fish for compliments.
“Oh my God, yes!” he said with his eyes wide. “You look so…grown up. Is that ok to say?”
“Haha, yes,” I laughed. “I think I do, too. I’m really happy with it. Hey, you wanna take me out to dinner to celebrate?”
Chris grinned. “I’ll change,” he said.
————————
I started going to Steve about every two months. It was more than I was used to spending on hair appointments, but the confident feeling I had after each visit was worth it. The second time I went, he suggested going about an inch shorter than before. I was nervous.
“You think it’ll look good? I’m already so happy with it,” I said.
“Oh, I’m positive it’ll look great. If you don’t like it, I should go into a different line of work,” he said, only half-joking.
I figured I had trusted him so far and it had worked out well. “Ok, but I’m gonna hold you to that,” I laughed.
An hour later, I couldn’t believe how much I liked the cut. It wasn’t much shorter than the first time, but the fact that it was off my shoulders just looked neater. My shoulder line also had a nice silhouette that I hadn’t even realized was
a thing I could have. Between that and my now every-day skirt-and-heels, I thought I looked pretty darn good.
Each time I went after that, Steve cut it a little shorter than the previous time. He didn’t even ask me anymore, and that was fine with me. Each cut made me look and feel more polished, even though it was just subtly different from the one before. In fact, I didn’t really think about the length, so much much as the style, which just kept getting better.
By this time, I was pretty much wearing jeans on weekends at home, skirts and dresses for work or going out socially. I also had a denim skirt I liked for around the house.
After about a year, Chris and I were sitting on the couch, looking through some photos on my phone together. We happened upon a picture of me that was taken at a school event shortly after the first haircut of my new style.
“Wow,” I said to Chris. “My hair is so long here. At the time it was the shortest I had ever had it.” I reached up and touched my hair. The length was overall at my chin, with layers framing my face. “I don’t think I realized how much shorter it is now compared to then. The change has been pretty gradual.”
“Oh yeah, it;s much shorter,” Chris agreed. “I figured you were doing that on purpose.”
“Hmmmm, not exactly. I mean, there was one time Steve suggested going a little shorter, and I said ok. After that, he just did his thing and I loved it more each time. But I never consciously thought that I wanted it shorter. Do you think it’s too short?”
Chris looked at me. “You’re asking my opinion, right?”
That made me nervous. I said, “Yeah,” and braced for the worst.
Chris put his hand on my knee. “You look stunning. I mean, look at you — you’ve always been beautiful, and I love you the same no matter what, but…since you started changing your look, you get more sexy all the time.”
“Oh, honey, you’re making me blush,” I said with a smile.
“The important question, though, is do you yourself like it?” Chris asked. “It’s your hair.”
“I do, I really do.” I moved his hand down my leg just below where my skirt draped over my knee, then leaned over and gave him a big kiss on the lips.
The following week I had my bi-monthly hair appointment. When I sat down in the chair, Steve surprised me by turning the chair so he could look at me from different angles, obviously thinking as he looked.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
Steve spun me around so I was facing the mirror with him standing behind me. “I think we should go a bit shorter on the sides. The overall length will only be a little less than now, but the sides coming up will take some bulk away.” He used his hands to pull some of my hair up and back on the sides. “Something like this.”
I inhaled nervously. It did look good, and I knew I wanted him to go ahead. But, even though I had been getting it gradually shorter already, the shape of this cut meant I would unmistakably have Short Hair. If someone needed to give a description of me, they would say, “about five-foot-five, short hair…” It somehow seemed like I was crossing a line. Finally, I exhaled slowly. “Do it.”
When he was done, I got up and looked in the mirror for a little while. I looked way more conservative than I used to, but I liked it. And Chris had been right — I didn’t look like a corporate lawyer, I still looked like me.
It was only a month later that I was back at the salon. It was a Saturday in June so I was wearing jeans and white t-shirt. Steve greeted me with a smile and led me to his station. “I was surprised to see you on the calendar so soon,” he said.
“Yeah, I broke my routine,” I said with a laugh.
“So what brings you here sooner than usual?”
“This area seems so long and bulky,” I said, moving my hand over the bottom of my hair in the back. I don’t know, it doesn’t look neat any more. Anyway, tonight Chris and I are celebrating our 5th anniversary. We’re going to the restaurant in that fancy historic hotel downtown, and we booked a room for the night. So I want to get this neatened up. Besides, Chris is going for a haircut, too.”
Steve took the ends of my hair in his hands. “Is Chris getting a haircut specifically for your date, or was he just due for one?” he asked.
“Well, he usually has it a little shaggy — below his ears and collar — even when he gets it trimmed. But I’ve said in the past that I’d like to see him just once with super-short hair, and I have a feeling that’s what he’s getting for tonight,” I said with obvious enthusiasm. “Why do you ask?”
“I think we should give you something really dressy. Real short in back and on the sides, fuller on top. It’ll be perfect for a night on the town when you’re all dolled up with your handsome beau. I asked about Chris to see if he was going the extra mile for a special occasion. Sounds like he is.”
I looked in the mirror, trying to picture it. “Shorter is dressier?” I asked.
“Think of how a nice up-do looks, with your neck and ears exposed. It’s the same idea. It’ll be really classy and glamorous,” Steve explained, tucking my hair behind my ears and cupping the back to lift it up. “It’ll be perfect for a special night.”
That made sense — I wanted to look my best, and I liked the idea of being extra glammed-up for our anniversary. “Yeah, let’s do that,” I said.
Steve got to work, first washing my hair at the sink, then starting the cut back at his station, I was facing the mirror and could see as he progressed that it was a good idea. He cut most of the length off the back first, then up towards the top of my head using rapid snips to get the texture he wanted. The hairs were a couple of inches long at the crown, tapering down to my nape. Then he went to the sides, carefully outlining around my ears, then reducing the bulk till it blended in with the back. The top was around three inches at its longest.
Steve used the brush and blow dryer to get the top full, parted on the side and lifted up from my forehead. It had volume but was very neat. He turned off the dryer to work with the brush some more.
“Steve,” I asked, “do you think the back and sides are short enough? I want it to be perfect.”
He nodded in agreement. “I’m gonna get the electric clippers out in a sec to get the back and sides really short and precise.”
“Ah, ok. I should have known you were on the case,” I laughed.
Looking in the mirror as Steve used the clippers, I started to see the “wow” factor in my new ‘do. He subtly shortened the back and sides so they hugged very close to my head, then used a smaller trimmer to make the perimeter perfect. When he was done, he brushed me off, and gave me a hand mirror so I could see the back.
“How’d I do?” Steve asked.
I couldn’t stop looking at how clean the edges over my ears and at the back looked. My bangs were shorter than usual, swept to the side, and brushed back slightly to make them lift out from my forehead. Steve had coaxed some good volume out of the shortened top hair, but it was still very controlled and formal-looking.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “Yeah, this is amazing. I look like I should be in a cocktail dress instead of these jeans — which is exactly what I’ll be wearing later.” I stood up and gave Steve a peck on the cheek. “That’s for going the extra mile.”
Steve was surprised and smiled broadly. “Oh! Thank you!”
I paid him and included a large tip. “Bye,” I said, “until next time!”
“Right, I almost forgot,” he said. “Come back in a month if you want to keep it like this.”
“Are you kidding? I’ll see you in a month!” I called out as I left the salon.
————————
Chris had had to go to his office briefly, so he was already downtown for his haircut and was going to meet me at the hotel. I had a new dress for the occasion, a black sleeveless cocktail dress with a boat neck, and a full, semi-structured skirt that ended at my knee. The skirt had a chiffon layer and the rest was silk and taffeta. I selected some dangly gold earrings to show off how short my hair was around the ears, and put on the pearl necklace I had worn at our wedding. The necklace was a good 2 or 3 inches from the bottom of my hair in back. It did remind me of a formal up-do, just as Steve had intended. I put on black heels, gave myself a tiny mist of perfume, and headed out to my car.
I got to the hotel restaurant just after 7. It was a big, art-deco space with period furniture and decoration. I headed over to the large bar, scanning for Chris. I vaguely registered a man coming up to me from my left before I realized it was Chris — I had almost not recognized him. He was wearing a beautiful new dark grey suit, white shirt, and yellow patterned tie. But I couldn’t take my eyes off his hair. It was clippered short all over, except the top, which was about two inches long and parted on the side. I had never seen him with hair this short and he was gorgeous.
Chris hadn’t said or done anything. He was staring and speechless for a few moments. “Oh, Baby,” he finally whispered, “you’re stunning.”
I twirled around once with a big smile on my face. “Happy anniversary, Babe,” I said.
He put his hand on the back of my head and gently stroked where the velvety clippered hair transitioned to skin at my nape. “You look like a movie star,” he said in awe.
I closed my eyes and reached up to hold his hand. I guided it back and forth along the hair outlining my ear. “Mmmm, that feels good,” I purred. “I got it really short for tonight to look my best for you.”
Chris kissed me on the mouth. “It’s so sexy, Babe,” he said, putting his other hand on my rear to feel the chiffon of the skirt. “And I love feeling you in a dress.”
I kissed him back and ran my free hand over his own hair. “You’re so handsome, it makes me dizzy. I suspected you might be getting a short haircut for me.”
“Is that why you got yours short, too?” he asked.
I smiled and shook my head. “Not exactly. I went for what I thought was gonna be just a sizable trim. When I told the stylist it was a special occasion, he said I should go really short to look extra dressed-up. I’m glad I did.”
“Mmmm, me too,” he said, kissing me again. “You should keep it like this.”
“I will if you will,” I said. “Deal?”
“Deal!” Chris said, grinning from ear to ear.
We reluctantly got our table and had a delicious meal with lots of wine and laughter. We barely had our eyes off each other for a minute. When we had paid the check and were about to stand up and check in to our room, I leaned across the table and put my hand on Chris’ arm. “I have a confession,” I giggled. I was slurring just a little bit, but I didn’t care. “I was gonna keep my hair this short anyway even if you weren’t gonna keep yours. But a deal’s a deal!”
Chris laughed. “A deal’s a deal. Besides, I think it makes me look young!”
We both collapsed in laughter.
Really well done
Love this story! Thanks so much for sharing it.
Great story! This is really sweet and I always love a good pixie cut. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older but the overall more grownup style is more attractive to me than it used to be
Fantastic, as usual. I really like how she got into the gradual but continuous change.