Cutting my (own) hair

I started cutting my own hair because I did not want to book appointments anymore. That is genuinely it. I got tired of planning my life around availability and paying for something that felt low priority. One day it was annoying me enough that I just picked up the scissors and did it.

The first time was not great, but not disastrous either. It was just uneven. I learned very quickly that you should always cut less than you think you need to. I also learned that hair grows back and that nothing terrible happens if it looks a bit off for a while. There is also something practical about it. Hair grows back. The stakes are lower than we often pretend. If it is uneven, you live with it for a while. You adjust. You learn where your hands naturally go wrong. It becomes less about the outcome and more about familiarity. That realisation took a lot of pressure out of it.

Now I do it every few months. I do it slowly because if I rush, I mess it up. I stand in the bathroom, section it off badly, check it from every angle, then cut tiny bits at a time. It is boring in a way that is actually quite calming. I am not thinking about emails or deadlines or what I am supposed to be doing next because I cannot.

You have to look at yourself closely. Not through a filtered lens or a flattering angle, but as you are. You notice asymmetry. You notice habits in the way you hold your head or tense your shoulders. That kind of attention is rare. It is not the same as scrutiny. It is gentler than that. It feels closer to listening. The mirror reflects not just your face, but your hesitation, your confidence, your doubt.

What I did not expect was how people react when you tell them you cut your own hair. Sometimes they look at you in a way that suggests you have admitted to something slightly embarrassing. There is an assumption that cutting your own hair means you do not care, or that you are being cheap, or that you think you know better than professionals. None of that is really true.

Hair records time. A few months of stress, a period of neglect, a phase where you stopped caring or cared too much. Cutting it yourself feels like interrupting that timeline and choosing where a new one begins. It is not about perfection, but rather focused, strategic intention.

I like that there is no conversation involved. No explaining what I want. No pretending I like it at the end. If I mess it up, that is on me, which I actually prefer. It feels more honest than sitting in a chair hoping someone else understands what I mean by “just a trim”.

For many people, especially women, hair has always been tied to control. Who is allowed to touch it. Who is allowed to comment on it. What it is supposed to signal about femininity, professionalism, desirability. Doing it yourself removes the performance. There is no explaining what you want. No nodding along when someone suggests something you did not ask for. No pretending you are happy with the result because it would feel awkward to say otherwise. Cutting your own hair short circuits some of that external authority. I just do not see why this particular thing has come to be outsourced by default.

There is something strangely grounding about cutting your own hair. Not in the dramatic, impulsive way it is often portrayed, but in the slow, careful act of standing in front of a mirror, scissors in hand, deciding what to keep and what to let go. It is a small ritual that feels private in a world that constantly asks us to outsource our bodies, our time, and our choices.

I also enjoy thinking about how across cultures and history, this carries such cultural significance. People mark grief, change, belief, and identity through hair. We grow it, hide it, show it, cut it, keep it. It is one of the few parts of the body that changes visibly with time and experience. When you cut your own hair, you are directly interacting with that. 

I am not claiming this as some deep spiritual practice. I am very aware of how easily that language can be overdone. But there is something grounding about deciding, with your own hands, what you keep and what you remove. It makes sense to want that control over something that sits so close to how you see yourself.

Eloise Reid (she/her)