Bad Haircuts
Sometimes you have to go with the flow literally and figuratively.
This weekend my much younger cousin Maaz won a competition for poetry, so I figured I’d write a quick post to show him who’s really the creative in this family.
Spoiler: It’s still him. Masha’Allah.
Anyways, today I went to the barber for a haircut after putting it off all week. I sat there in the chair thinking as a brother named Jesus who doesn’t speak much English took a stab at my hair. As someone who prefers to plan before I jump into things, I am, for whatever reason, relaxed at the prospect of getting a bad haircut now. This is very odd to me also because of the fact that as a kid, I strongly disliked haircuts. My dad practically had to force me to go get them from time to time and I would make it seem like sitting in that chair at Supercuts was a violation of my constitutional rights.
Now back to today. When I arrived there, Jesus took me back to get started. He asked me what I wanted in terms of numbers and motioned for scissors versus clippers on top and on the sides. Instead of just giving clear directions, I scrolled on my phone for pictures until I found one of me with a haircut as close to what I had in mind as I could find (between us, it wasn’t really close). I just pointed at it and he looked at the picture and then back to me as if to suggest we were on the same page. Then he got started and never really talked to me except from time to time to double check something so I just sat there mindlessly.
I think, now, there are three reasons I am so comfortable with the prospect of bad haircuts. Firstly, I have a lot of hats (take from this what you may). Secondly, I actually feel relief when hair is being snipped off my head, it’s cathartic in a way. Just the feeling of hair being cut and falling to the floor is some kind of mental or physical release. Thirdly, the idea of a bad haircut doesn’t scare me like it used to because I’ve come to enjoy the process of hair just growing back into place. It’s a fresh start and a literal weight off my shoulders even though it’s pretty meaningless in reality. How haircuts make me feel is truly ajeeb, strange, and profound.
On this last point, haircuts are like life in a way. You can plan perfectly, but Jesus will still take creative liberties and do whatever it is he did to the back of my head today. Barbers essentially have you hostage in a chair until they decide they’re done, and I, for one, will never tell them they did anything but a good job like the principled coward I am. If only I could give Allah that same balance of kindness and fear. Bad haircuts can always be recovered (except for those of us with hair loss, I sincerely apologize for this noninclusive post but I see y’all) so there’s no point in dreading what you can no longer control. Although maybe just, you know, learn how to vocalize what kind of haircut you want like a responsible adult. I will not be joining you in that effort anytime soon though.
Here’s to bouncing back from bad haircuts and life in general. I hope you have a blessed week and that you learn to embrace the things you can’t always plan for with confidence.
P.S. If you feel like you care about your appearance more than you should, here’s some food for thought:
Let’s see the cut