When a Haircut is More Than Just a Haircut
I’ve sat in a salon chair twice in the past twelve months. After the pandemic started, I was able to get my hair done at the end of May and again in October. Not ever being the person that can do regular visits because of my job, I get in when I can. But, COVID hit and I started working more — a lot more. So, my irregular visits, usually three or four months apart, became 6 months.
I am an ICU physician and I’ve been working in COVID units almost a year now. I also work a lot of nights. This means my hair is rarely fixed as I am always wearing a scrub cap at work in case I’m caring for a patient in isolation. Pulling my hair back, right after my shower, is how I’ve lived for a long time and can probably count on two hands the number of times I actually used a blow-dryer or a flat iron in 2020.
With my erratic schedule, knowing my hair will be covered, and knowing I’ll likely be too tired on my few days off to even care about my hair — having a cut and highlight seemed pointless. But, the stress of the past year has taken a toll and I’m seeing more and more silver shine back at me in the mirror.
I’ve never enjoyed fixing my hair and often threaten to go full-on Moira Rose with the wig lifestyle. But, lately, my hair-hatred has gotten a lot worse and I’ve started to dread doing anything that requires me to look halfway presentable. I avoid places and events because wearing a hat wouldn’t be acceptable.
The times I have fixed my hair, it felt like I forgot what I was doing entirely and it would end up being pulled back. Masks sometimes hurt my ears, so headbands with buttons on the sides became my second cover-up, allowing me to hide my hair as well as my face. Except when I am at home (which hasn’t been much as I travel for work), I am completely hidden.
Working nights, taking care of myself wasn’t high on my priority list. Night-shift-brain-fog makes it really hard to care about anything that’s not life or death. With lockdowns, winter weather, and working way too much — I essentially became my job. And, things like haircuts or highlights seemed frivolous while the majority of my time was being spent trying to prevent people from dying. What right do I have to worry about my hair?
But, I finally had some time off and, unable to manage my hair at all, scheduled an appointment — one I wasn’t looking forward to (ironically) because I was embarrassed at how my hair looked.
My hair was a representation of all things that I’d neglected during the past year — my health, my sleep, my relationships — and I was exposing that part of me to the world after using scrub caps, headbands, and masks to hide behind for months. My hair was proof of how behind I am in laundry, studying for my recertification boards, and just life in general. It screamed, “this girl can’t handle all that she’s signed up for.”
I also decided I wanted a new stylist and was afraid this new person would judge me for, what my mother would say is, “lack of pride in myself.” And, if she was thinking that — she’d be right. I’d become way too comfortable in the headband that hides my hair and the masks that hide my emotions. It had come to the point where it simply didn’t matter if my hair was cut, or if I had a smile on my face because no one could see either of those things.
I sat in the salon chair with my mask on and told myself that the stylist was probably not talking to herself about what a hot mess I was. But I wondered so many things while she quickly and efficiently went about dividing my hair and placing it in perfectly folded foils with my new color.
👉 Did she have any idea she was doing more than just my hair?…That she was, in a sense, putting me back together — those parts of me that I’ve lost since the pandemic started.
👉 Did she know that I should have been making appointments for my overdue well-woman exam and my mammogram instead of getting my hair done?
👉 Does she know how fast the weeks go by in the ICU — how easy it is to lose all track of time for months — and that I’d look in the mirror one day and see the grays return and want her to get me in ASAP to save me?
👉 Did she know I have anniversary plans with my husband this weekend and was already dreading trying to style my hair to only end up pulling it back into a disappointing pony tail….but she fixed that completely in less than ninety minutes?
👉 As she washed my hair, did she notice the tears making their way down my face as I started to, once more, feel like a real person?
I wonder if this stylist had any idea she was helping someone who couldn’t imagine ever feeling like herself again after all that’s happened in just a year…but is now, maybe, headed in that direction.
