es algo que nos dicen que debemos hacer cada tanto tiempo, aunque creo que deberia ser liberal hacer lo que quieras con tu cabello, igual muchos le tienen miedo y todo eso pero creo que deberia usarse para expresarte como personas y hacer de verdad lo que quieras con el y que te repesente como persona.
Snip.
A chunk of dark hair fell gently to the floor, curling into a delicate pile. Devon looked at himself in the mirror. He brought his hand up to the small section of freshly-trimmed hair and smiled. Finally, he could look the way he’d always seen himself. Humming happily to himself, he brought the scissors back to his head. His smile grew a little with every cut. Maybe with this new haircut, he could finally feel at home in his body.
Today I am ready for a difference.
I will cut away the parts of myself
that no longer serve me.
I sit down in a barber’s chair.
I will emerge shorn,
ready to begin again.
i don’t just want a haircut. i want it gone. i want to shave my head until the blade touches the skin. it wouldn’t make any difference. i’ll always be ugly as sin no matter what i do.
This was not simply a haircut; this would be the start of my new life. I knew, somehow, this haircut would change me in to the confident, beautiful, catch-your-breath, stop-traffic woman I always wanted to be.
She walked in, simply wanting a haircut; she didn’t know she’d leave with a new enemy. It may have been the color, the cut, the conversation. Or maybe, it was meeting her husband’s lover.
I just got my hair cut last week and I love it! It’s always scarey because, one wrong cut and POOF! I am as fluffy as a sheeps wool. And no one noticed this time!
I got a haircut a month or so ago and it’s weird because it’s simply an alteration of my hairstyle. The sides of my head don’t grow out much so I simply shaved it but it looks weird because now when I jump the top of my head which is pretty long looks like it’s flapping like a bird so when I run the shadow tends to look like I have trapped a small bird attempting to be free from my evil clutches that’s all.
She swung her hair across her chin haughtily. Perfect. It was perfect. She grinned into the mirror and made eye contact with the stylist staring at her. “I love it.”
“Honey, it’s so you.”
She threw her shoulders back. It was so her. This haircut was who she was now.
I hate making a fool out of myself when I have a bad haircut. It makes me feel like I’m this other, goofier, two left feet kind of person. My deepest desire is not to make mistakes at all, to never make a fool out of myself. But when I do, and it’s after a haircut, it doesn’t even feel like it’s happening to me. It’s like it’s happening to a bad actor playing me and everyone is going to confuse the two of us. I wish that weren’t the case.
When my son got his first haircut, I had taken him to a barber shop that my family has been going to for years. My grandfather, when he was alive, used to go to this barber shop all the time. Needless to say, this barber shop has been apart of our family for generations.
I was walking down the street. There’s a man dressed in dark clothes. He offers me a haircut. I accept. He takes me to a room and I don’t know what to do. “Sit down” he says. I do. Why did I accept? I’m so vulnerable but I feel like I know this man. He cuts my hair, so tenderly, gently. I like it and I pay him. We never speak again.
I had a really bad haircut last year. My bangs were cut straight across because I thought it would look edgy and cool. Turns out I looked like a five year old in a seventeen year old’s body. It wasn’t fun at all. Since then, I’ve been growing my hair out and I’m scared to cut it again.
bangs hung low over her eyes. she could see, barely. musing to herself, she thought of grabbing the scissors and slicing through the irritating pieces. she opened the drawer, only to find empty nothingness surrounding her. the bangs grew, grew longer and longer as the seconds passed. her hair engulfed her and then there was the grasps of small hands, blowing the darkness from her vision. she could see, if only a little.
“You look really shaggy,” his mother said as she combed his hair with her fingers. He turned his head to shake away her hand and retreated a step. “You need a haircut.”
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound neutral but his words had an accent of a whine. He didn’t say anything else, just picked up his backpack to prepare to leave the house.
Two weeks after I moved in with Shane, I took a walk downtown, got the haircut I always wanted, and went shopping at the thrift store, picking out an outfit that made me feel more like myself than any other time in my life. Despite the fact that, I don’t know, my parents had kicked me out, I felt more confident than ever before.
“Master, do I HAVE to?”
“Yes, Anakin. Your hair is altogether too long! We are going to cut it TODAY.”
“But – but – fine.”
es algo que nos dicen que debemos hacer cada tanto tiempo, aunque creo que deberia ser liberal hacer lo que quieras con tu cabello, igual muchos le tienen miedo y todo eso pero creo que deberia usarse para expresarte como personas y hacer de verdad lo que quieras con el y que te repesente como persona.
es algo que nos dicen que debemos hacer cada tanto tiempo, aunque creo que deberia ser liberal hacer lo que quieras con tu cabell
Snip.
A chunk of dark hair fell gently to the floor, curling into a delicate pile. Devon looked at himself in the mirror. He brought his hand up to the small section of freshly-trimmed hair and smiled. Finally, he could look the way he’d always seen himself. Humming happily to himself, he brought the scissors back to his head. His smile grew a little with every cut. Maybe with this new haircut, he could finally feel at home in his body.
Today I am ready for a difference.
I will cut away the parts of myself
that no longer serve me.
I sit down in a barber’s chair.
I will emerge shorn,
ready to begin again.
i don’t just want a haircut. i want it gone. i want to shave my head until the blade touches the skin. it wouldn’t make any difference. i’ll always be ugly as sin no matter what i do.
This was not simply a haircut; this would be the start of my new life. I knew, somehow, this haircut would change me in to the confident, beautiful, catch-your-breath, stop-traffic woman I always wanted to be.
She got her haircut short because she was tired if brushing the tangles out all day long.
She walked in, simply wanting a haircut; she didn’t know she’d leave with a new enemy. It may have been the color, the cut, the conversation. Or maybe, it was meeting her husband’s lover.
I just got my hair cut last week and I love it! It’s always scarey because, one wrong cut and POOF! I am as fluffy as a sheeps wool. And no one noticed this time!
I got a haircut a month or so ago and it’s weird because it’s simply an alteration of my hairstyle. The sides of my head don’t grow out much so I simply shaved it but it looks weird because now when I jump the top of my head which is pretty long looks like it’s flapping like a bird so when I run the shadow tends to look like I have trapped a small bird attempting to be free from my evil clutches that’s all.
Just a trim. Always just a trim. It used to be the full color, cut, blow dry. But I’ve had to simplify. Of choice and of necessity.
“well someone’s moody today,” WW said looking at the now pouting SK.
“yeah, he hates his new haircut,” HS replied, looking at said boy clumsily arranging the seats and smiled, “I think he looks adorable,”
She swung her hair across her chin haughtily. Perfect. It was perfect. She grinned into the mirror and made eye contact with the stylist staring at her. “I love it.”
“Honey, it’s so you.”
She threw her shoulders back. It was so her. This haircut was who she was now.
I hate making a fool out of myself when I have a bad haircut. It makes me feel like I’m this other, goofier, two left feet kind of person. My deepest desire is not to make mistakes at all, to never make a fool out of myself. But when I do, and it’s after a haircut, it doesn’t even feel like it’s happening to me. It’s like it’s happening to a bad actor playing me and everyone is going to confuse the two of us. I wish that weren’t the case.
When my son got his first haircut, I had taken him to a barber shop that my family has been going to for years. My grandfather, when he was alive, used to go to this barber shop all the time. Needless to say, this barber shop has been apart of our family for generations.
I was walking down the street. There’s a man dressed in dark clothes. He offers me a haircut. I accept. He takes me to a room and I don’t know what to do. “Sit down” he says. I do. Why did I accept? I’m so vulnerable but I feel like I know this man. He cuts my hair, so tenderly, gently. I like it and I pay him. We never speak again.
I want a haircut, but the place closed. I came back the next day and they where opened.
I had a really bad haircut last year. My bangs were cut straight across because I thought it would look edgy and cool. Turns out I looked like a five year old in a seventeen year old’s body. It wasn’t fun at all. Since then, I’ve been growing my hair out and I’m scared to cut it again.
I need to go to my favourite hair dresser`s to get a new haircut. Maybe I’ll choose a new colour too.
let me wear you like a haircut,
with a fresh new style we’d shine.
I’d be your glitter filigree;
your holographic hand in mine.
bangs hung low over her eyes. she could see, barely. musing to herself, she thought of grabbing the scissors and slicing through the irritating pieces. she opened the drawer, only to find empty nothingness surrounding her. the bangs grew, grew longer and longer as the seconds passed. her hair engulfed her and then there was the grasps of small hands, blowing the darkness from her vision. she could see, if only a little.
“You look really shaggy,” his mother said as she combed his hair with her fingers. He turned his head to shake away her hand and retreated a step. “You need a haircut.”
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound neutral but his words had an accent of a whine. He didn’t say anything else, just picked up his backpack to prepare to leave the house.
Two weeks after I moved in with Shane, I took a walk downtown, got the haircut I always wanted, and went shopping at the thrift store, picking out an outfit that made me feel more like myself than any other time in my life. Despite the fact that, I don’t know, my parents had kicked me out, I felt more confident than ever before.
have you ever met someone who could be described, simply as ‘a haircut’? I have. A haircut in a bad suit, in fact.