I Went Pixie and It Wasn't for Pan

Soo, I cut my hair again. And before you think this has turned into a hair blog, let me explain. New hairstyles invigorate me. At the age of twelve, I received my first major haircut~ Farrah Fawcett style. Up until then, my hair hung in a long straight line sitting across my bum with bangs just as straight across my forehead. Seeing long strands of hair hit the floor sent a thrill of excitement mixed with terrification. I watched the woman snip bit by bit around my face, shaping it into layers. Then she dried it and flipped each piece back. It fell beautifully. I thought I'd stepped into a new, improved me.

Thus began my love affair with haircuts.

Before the age of eighteen, I went through perms, bi-levels (don't say I had a mullet), and super curly bobs of the Pretty-in-Pink variety. I was addicted. The only time I purposely refused to cut my hair was the year of my wedding; I wanted princess tresses, (gah!) which were promptly axed a month after getting hitched. Thankfully my husband loves short hair. He's endured a lot of it.

For me, cutting my hair signifies a new beginning. It's like morphing into a new person. Or simply adding a bit more to the core you. You're you, but you've added a nice slab of cheese on top. For me it's a new chance, the stage is set and I have another role. I step out with my sparkling new costume and life suddenly seems bright and possible and full of opportunities.

So the first cut wasn't quite short enough, the pixie is what I needed. It was simply time to morph. It'd been two years since I'd tried a new style, because I thought I should grow my hair out one more time before I get too old for it. And then one day I realized, "I'm not a long-hair girl. Why do I have this mop?" And boom! I chopped it (twice). And now I feel like me, all brand spanking new.

Do you have something that gives you that boost?