Change has an interesting way of manifesting in our appearances. A big promotion calls for a new suit, a new school year demands a new look, and a new romantic partner begs new briefs and panties (please tell me I’m not alone in this one?). The possibilities for displaying these shifts through personal aesthetics are endless, but the most obvious and attainable indicator of transition—be it physical or mental—has to be the haircut. In late November, I was ready for said change. With a new job and apartment on the horizon, and months full of trial and error, heartbreak, and harrowing anxiety behind me, I marched into the WORN office, scissors in hand.
I had decided 24 hours before to cut off my hair. And while I wasn’t planning on going Jean Seberg-short like many brave Wornettes before me, the impending change was drastic enough for me. Fund restrictions and a lack of patience led me to a Google chat with my editor here at WORN, and we scheduled my cut for 8 p.m. that same evening; like my dreary memories of the past, I wanted it gone, and I wanted it gone fast.
Looking back, this haircut wasn’t really about vanity. If I wanted a perfectly sculpted coif, I surely could have waited the extra week and booked an appointment at a salon—though I must admit that my confidence in Serah-Marie’s cutting capabilities doubled when I walked in the office and Edward Scissorhands was playing on the projector. For me, the cut was more about marking a transition. And, as corny as it sounds, holding six inches of loose hair in my hands somehow re-affirmed that I had the ability to not only accept change as it came, but to create it for myself; no week-long wait to book, and no hesitations.
text by Casie Brown
photography by Serah-Marie