You couldn’t resist the opportunity when it presented itself. You retrieved that shiny pair of scissors (the ones marked “fabric only”) while your parents were binge-watching House of Cards, knowing this was your moment to embrace your independence. Your time had come. After all, you know where things are now: the pots and pans, the extra diaper wipes, the craft supplies. You run this town.
You closed the bathroom door, climbed up on the counter-top, sat in front of the mirror and contemplated for six entire seconds (28 years in Toddler Time) the look you were going for. The weight of the scissors in your chubby hands was exhilarating and with the first snip, right above your left temple, you were drunk with power.
“That looks good,” you thought to yourself. “Really good.”
So you went for more. Here a little, there a lot. Every lock of hair that fell to the counter beneath your crisscrossed legs revealed more and more of the butterfly that was previously locked inside the cocoon of your former haircut.
You looked in the mirror and said, “This is who I truly am.”
You’ll never forget the look on your mother’s face when she discovered you, nor the high pitch of her scream. In that moment, you taught each other a valuable lesson to carry throughout your lifetimes: that you are each capable of shocking and scaring each other.
Now, while I do condone the practice of cutting your own hair, I accept this singular act as an important rite of passage. Embrace it, learn from it, and then go get some professional help. (Incidentally, when I cut my own hair at 16 months old, it started a trend among grown women, but I realize that I am an outlier.)
Think of your self-inflicted haircut like a wedding—you should plan on only having one in your lifetime. If you start making a regular practice of it, you’re on your way to becoming a cliché. Mark my words, you don’t want to be the Larry King of haircuts. Trust me.
Here to guide you,