Homemade Haircut

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

Serah-Marie speaking at Toronto Public Library

SO I’m a little nervous about this. I’ve never done a talk to a large group of people, save for university presentations and even then I cut my talking time down as much as possible by showing large chunks of Stop Making Sense. The official description:

Publisher and editor Serah-Marie McMahon discusses WORN Journal and the importance of independent fashion publishing.

I’m planning a whole power-point fancy thing. I hope you can come! You can even say so on Facebook. And hey! Dig the awesome flyer.

hearts, smm

Moms can rock, or why trends don’t actually matter.

a couple weeks ago I logged into my facebook account and was met with a barrage of very old and very embarrassing family photos that my mom and my aunts started posting, possibly while drunk. (There were some of me too, but I don’t think I’m ready to share my terrible Sears ad from 1984 just yet.) While the family matriarchs were making fun of 70s flip hair cuts and 80s sweater patterns, I found myself both remembering and defending most of the outfits. I have a very clear recollection of the night from photo above, my mother and her teased, permed, perfumed, and very glamorous friends getting ready for a night out. The kid in the turquoise dress is me – I somehow wrangled myself permission to wear a heavily sequined and shoulder-padded bridesmaid dress for the night. Maybe youth rose-coloured my glasses, but I thought we looked pretty amazing. I still do.

I remember a conversation I had with a friend way back when I was in my late teens and my Spice Girl Shoes Japanese Fashion Magazine phase. He said I was going to be one of those people who looked back at photos from my teen years and laugh. He didn’t mean it as an insult, and I didn’t take it that way because I knew that though that is true for some folks, it wasn’t for me. I knew that I always had an appreciation for fashion outside of trend. Does it look weird because it is weird, or because you’re just not used to it anymore? And really, what’s so wrong with weird?