One of the many new hobbies I’ve picked up during shelter in place is growing my hair out. I’ve gotten pretty good at it. It’s easy when all the barbershops and salons are closed and I don’t trust my girlfriend with sharp objects. My last haircut was probably in late November or early December because I didn’t want to look shaggy in holiday photos. I should have gotten a haircut in March before I went on vacation but I ran out of time. I came back on March 10th, had a couple days of work, and then everything shut down.
So here I am, stuck inside with ever increasing follicles. My bangs cover my eyes, some strands reach down to my nostrils. I spent over fifteen years of my life with a shaved head, now I have the luscious locks of a 90’s heartthrob. I’m not used to it. I’ve started wearing hats when I leave the house, something I never did before unless I was going to a baseball game. When I’m at home I’ll alternate between wearing a beanie, a headband, or simply running my fingers through my hair. It’s so soft. It’s like a puppy that lives on my head.
I know I can just shave my head and be done with it. But it’s become a symbol. My untamed hair represents how life has forever changed. It’s the new normal. I will only cut my hair when this is over.
Critically Rated at 12/17
Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young