The Entropy Filter

This is where you learn that I am a contradiction.  I do meticulous research.  I am incredibly impulsive.  I also just shaved my head.*

*This is a follow-up to an earlier post but it's not necessary to read that one to follow this one.  Wait, read that one.  It's funny.

I don't think I can do this justice without photographic evidence, but be warned that the photos are annoying selfies because I am enjoying unusual alone time.  Holy cats! this place is quiet.  Plus, my husband takes horrible pictures.

These gratuitous selfies will all contain a blurry area about halfway down and towards the left.  My toddler dropped my phone.  Then I dropped it the other twenty-seven times.  Apart from the absolutely obliterated screen, my phone works fine, so I'm not getting a new one.  I prefer to call this unintended photographic effect "the entropy filter."

Since you've now caught up by reading the previous blog, I'll jump in.  Nothing worked.  NOTHING.

Just how a person gets from long hair to bald is a matter of circumstance.  I couldn't find any other way out (meticulous research) so I grabbed the scissors (impulsivity).

Let's take a walk.

I had to work in one hour.  Time to get this show on the road...

Before.  I'm was excited as I appear.

I found that the cord for the clippers made it almost all the way to the tub so I almost had a super easy time cleaning up.  Instead I made a huge mess but at least I had someplace to sit.

The scissor bit.  Guess I'm really doing this!

Cutting the hair was pretty okay.  I totally get why little kids sneak off with their safety scissors and go hog-wild on their hair.  The power is intoxicating.

I thought I would waste a bunch of time cutting different wild styles but I wasn't anywhere near a mirror and typing that out loud just now makes me realize how ridiculous it was.

Hack job mess.  And I am now holding clippers!

This is not a drill!!!

Buzzing your hair is liberating.  It's almost too quick and easy.

Somewhat nauseated.

I was going to stop with "pixie" short, but it didn't look right to me.  When I go in, I go ALL in.  I swapped the guard to a cool number two.

Deep breaths.

It grows.  It grows.  And so will I.

Buzzed.  What do you think of my new 'do?

The response has been interesting.

My kids love it.  I now have the least hair of anyone living in my home, human or feline.  

I've always wanted to do this.  Do it at least once.  I keep a list and I've been trying to fulfill those "someday things."  Really, why not?  Next on the list are: snowshoe racing, playing ragtime piano (which means improving my level of proficiency from "she plays piano by ear" to "she actually knows what she is doing and can really tear it up") and hang gliding.  And painting my kitchen.

People keep asking me if I donated to a cancer charity.  I'm sad to say I did not.  Could not.  It disappoints them.  I get it.  Even if there was no issue within, my hair had sustained too much damage to be shared.  Last year I wanted to join in an event where people fundraise then shave their heads for cancer research.  I was too nervous but not for the hair-cutting, but of having to ask lots of people for money.  It's something I find challenging.  Maybe next year.  

Others think I did it in some kind of self-actualizing celebration of personal liberty, throwing off the shackles of the imposed feminine ideal.  That sounds pretty awesome.  

I don't usually share the true impetus of the cut.  It's too long, somewhat personal, and they are just curious because it's an unusual choice.  Nobody wants to stand there for the unabridged version.  It's boring.  

Usually, I just smile and say: "Hey, it worked for Sigourney Weaver!" 

Image by Lewis Cozzi

Takes them a minute...