Your haircut is a method of expressing yourself and displaying your style. There are innumerable possibilities when getting a hair cut or hair style.It is a personal preference.
When I was seventeen years old, I chopped off my long blonde hair and moved to California to be with my girlfriend. My mother cried as she watched me go, standing on the porch in her floral dress and her white kitten heels, and I wanted to cry, too, but all that I could do was feel inescapably numb. I was leaving them behind, like I’d wanted to all of my life, but it was breaking me in some strange and terrible way.
It’s how I’ve always dealt with heartache – getting a haircut. Going to the salon and letting someone transform me, in a small enough way. Letting someone else care for me, for just an hour. The only problem is how fleeting the experience is.
“Get a haircut,” his sister suggested as she ruffled his hair.
“you look like a dork,” he mumbled that he didn’t care.
“I’m serious” she insisted “you look like a girl,”
He wondered if that would be the worst thing in the world.
she took her fringe down. like a door, opening a pathway straight to her face. it seemed flippant at first. off the cuff. without meaning. but as she peered into the mirror, through the doorway, she knew she’d been meaning to make this change for some time. to step through, and find something new behind the door.
She swung her hair from side to side, letting the swish ring through her ears. “Perfect.”
The stylist grinned absently as she swept the hair from the floor. “Great. Happy you like it.”
“I love it”
She’s not sure why she continues doing this – crouched behind the church, a cigarette in one hand and a lighter she swiped from her kitchen counter in the other.
With the flick of a thumb, a spark bursts into a flame. It burns bright and almost holy, illuminating the shriveled leaves strewn across the dark, dusty alley. The light is too pitiful for her to see the stubs, glass and needles, but she can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a shame.
She brings the smoking cigarette to her lips and draws a breath. The harms of smoking drifts to the forefront of her mind, played on repeat by all the authority figures she has in her life. She understands them, and knows that she could substitute what she’s doing with reading or exercising. Yet, it’s not just the scent of a smoke that calms her; it’s the potential of her getting caught, of the horror and anger that she imagines her parents would display, that makes her heart skip and stir.
That’s her true addiction. She’s too much of a coward to act out beyond this, but at the same time, she needs an outlet born out of independent choice. When she is at home, in school, or walking along a street, her mind is an unwitting receptor of others’ thoughts, her body a reluctant effector of their expectations.
Here, shrouded beneath the clouded, chilly night, her heart beats for herself. Her thoughts run wild and free.
i got a haircut because i felt it would cut away my past. i ate a large fastfood dinner and icecream while watching shitty tv because i believe this would be my last day being unhealthy to mark the transition of my life into something healthy, pure. i thought that my soul could be fixed with these materialistic, petty rituals.
I know I need a haircut but there’s a part of me that feels really, really comfortable with my hair long… I don’t know, I like having something I need to keep washed and then I need to keep it dried after that, et cetera.. It’s kind of nice. If I got a haircut I’d just end up getting a buzzcut or a ‘high and tight’ anyways and that’s just not suitable for the cold weather we have coming.
Jake’s haircut is gruesome: sides and back buzzed, a large tuft at the top, as if his head’s an ear of corn, its tassel reaching for the sun. It’ll grow back, I said. It did, but only the tassel – I cut it off every day for a month. We visit the salon: they’re clueless. Month 2- Jake is freaking out. Month 3 – our calls, research, doctor visits: all fruitless. Month 4 – Jake’s on the edge. Month 6: I pick up the paper, “Hair Stylist’s Head Found In Creek Bed”
my new haircut was a shambles, I decided as I looked myself up and down in my front-facing camera on my phone. Better to shave it all off than to look like such a haystack! I didn’t know what was wrong, I’d told the stylist the same things I always told him I wanted, but it had ended up in such a wreck that I couldn’t handle it.
I got a haircut just for my anniversary. I took her out to a nice dinner and ate enough for three. Sweet cake and champagne to make the night that much better. Top it off with city life with really nice weather. I am stronger from the marriage that I have with my wifey, and I hope she’ll stick with me for the rest of my lifey!
A fresh start. A goodbye. A hello. Moving on. Looking back. Falling in love. Getting your heart broken. Breaking someone else’s. A time capsule. A time machine. Mine. Mine alone.
I used to think that when you cut your hair, no matter how much was cut off, you became a new person just a little bit. In some way you could see the world differently, but only for a day or two or three and then you adapted to the change… that new part of yourself became just another part added to the bunch.
I didn’t want to get a haircut. But I had no choice.. Because if they found out about my hair. If THEY EVER found out. I knew it would mark a defiant and sad end. Reluctantly I got my haircut.
I needed a haircut. I just discovered civilization. Well, it found me anyways. This old man found me feral in the amazon forest. It has been a year or so now, and I learned proper human things. Hell, the only thing I am scared of is to cut my hair.
Your haircut is a method of expressing yourself and displaying your style. There are innumerable possibilities when getting a hair cut or hair style.It is a personal preference.
When I was seventeen years old, I chopped off my long blonde hair and moved to California to be with my girlfriend. My mother cried as she watched me go, standing on the porch in her floral dress and her white kitten heels, and I wanted to cry, too, but all that I could do was feel inescapably numb. I was leaving them behind, like I’d wanted to all of my life, but it was breaking me in some strange and terrible way.
I got new haircut last January. I had a long hair and I have hair cut too short . Now I miss long hair.
i want to make a new haircut because my hair is changing a lot, i thought about it so many times but i still dont know how to do it
It’s how I’ve always dealt with heartache – getting a haircut. Going to the salon and letting someone transform me, in a small enough way. Letting someone else care for me, for just an hour. The only problem is how fleeting the experience is.
“Get a haircut,” his sister suggested as she ruffled his hair.
“you look like a dork,” he mumbled that he didn’t care.
“I’m serious” she insisted “you look like a girl,”
He wondered if that would be the worst thing in the world.
she took her fringe down. like a door, opening a pathway straight to her face. it seemed flippant at first. off the cuff. without meaning. but as she peered into the mirror, through the doorway, she knew she’d been meaning to make this change for some time. to step through, and find something new behind the door.
I always get a haircut before summer starts because it gets extremely hot an I would rather have a short hair style!
She swung her hair from side to side, letting the swish ring through her ears. “Perfect.”
The stylist grinned absently as she swept the hair from the floor. “Great. Happy you like it.”
“I love it”
That one time, when my bangs looked like Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber. Haircut.
“Totally,” Jasmine tried. She flipped her hair. Dyed blonde strands stuck to her forehead.
The casting director stared at her, eyelids lowered and chin propped in his palm.
“Next,” he told her.
Word: ‘juvenile’
She’s not sure why she continues doing this – crouched behind the church, a cigarette in one hand and a lighter she swiped from her kitchen counter in the other.
With the flick of a thumb, a spark bursts into a flame. It burns bright and almost holy, illuminating the shriveled leaves strewn across the dark, dusty alley. The light is too pitiful for her to see the stubs, glass and needles, but she can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a shame.
She brings the smoking cigarette to her lips and draws a breath. The harms of smoking drifts to the forefront of her mind, played on repeat by all the authority figures she has in her life. She understands them, and knows that she could substitute what she’s doing with reading or exercising. Yet, it’s not just the scent of a smoke that calms her; it’s the potential of her getting caught, of the horror and anger that she imagines her parents would display, that makes her heart skip and stir.
That’s her true addiction. She’s too much of a coward to act out beyond this, but at the same time, she needs an outlet born out of independent choice. When she is at home, in school, or walking along a street, her mind is an unwitting receptor of others’ thoughts, her body a reluctant effector of their expectations.
Here, shrouded beneath the clouded, chilly night, her heart beats for herself. Her thoughts run wild and free.
She feels alive.
a hair cut is when u are cuting your hair in u meant go to a slaiele to do it
i got a haircut because i felt it would cut away my past. i ate a large fastfood dinner and icecream while watching shitty tv because i believe this would be my last day being unhealthy to mark the transition of my life into something healthy, pure. i thought that my soul could be fixed with these materialistic, petty rituals.
is a tipe that cut on your hair
the hair is brown or black or blonde
i want to do a haircut this week
i dont know it cut short
I know I need a haircut but there’s a part of me that feels really, really comfortable with my hair long… I don’t know, I like having something I need to keep washed and then I need to keep it dried after that, et cetera.. It’s kind of nice. If I got a haircut I’d just end up getting a buzzcut or a ‘high and tight’ anyways and that’s just not suitable for the cold weather we have coming.
Jake’s haircut is gruesome: sides and back buzzed, a large tuft at the top, as if his head’s an ear of corn, its tassel reaching for the sun. It’ll grow back, I said. It did, but only the tassel – I cut it off every day for a month. We visit the salon: they’re clueless. Month 2- Jake is freaking out. Month 3 – our calls, research, doctor visits: all fruitless. Month 4 – Jake’s on the edge. Month 6: I pick up the paper, “Hair Stylist’s Head Found In Creek Bed”
Why didn’t Chewbacca get a medal?
my new haircut was a shambles, I decided as I looked myself up and down in my front-facing camera on my phone. Better to shave it all off than to look like such a haystack! I didn’t know what was wrong, I’d told the stylist the same things I always told him I wanted, but it had ended up in such a wreck that I couldn’t handle it.
I got a haircut just for my anniversary. I took her out to a nice dinner and ate enough for three. Sweet cake and champagne to make the night that much better. Top it off with city life with really nice weather. I am stronger from the marriage that I have with my wifey, and I hope she’ll stick with me for the rest of my lifey!
Happy Anniversary, babe. Love ya!
A fresh start. A goodbye. A hello. Moving on. Looking back. Falling in love. Getting your heart broken. Breaking someone else’s. A time capsule. A time machine. Mine. Mine alone.
I used to think that when you cut your hair, no matter how much was cut off, you became a new person just a little bit. In some way you could see the world differently, but only for a day or two or three and then you adapted to the change… that new part of yourself became just another part added to the bunch.
I didn’t want to get a haircut. But I had no choice.. Because if they found out about my hair. If THEY EVER found out. I knew it would mark a defiant and sad end. Reluctantly I got my haircut.
I needed a haircut. I just discovered civilization. Well, it found me anyways. This old man found me feral in the amazon forest. It has been a year or so now, and I learned proper human things. Hell, the only thing I am scared of is to cut my hair.