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I think we all knew it was only a matter of time.
Or rather, I think everyone knew but me; I distinctly remember telling my best friend that I’d never cut my hair shorter than jaw-length again. When I met Katie, I specifically told her my buzz days were over. I believed it; did they?
Nevertheless, I found myself linking back to the ol’ buzz cut glory days with embarrassing frequency (see?), and telling strangers about my formerly shaved head— as if to say “I used to be interesting! Don’t let my apparent blandness fool you!”
And so immediately after posting pictures of my last haircut, I marched into the bathroom and buzzed my head. I used a #5 comb-attachment-doohickey, and Ian performed QC and touched up my neck. (Why do ‘touched up’ and ‘felt up’ mean different things?) But that was 11 days ago. My hair feels longer already.
I’d like to go full-on Lex Luthor someday soon, but I already have a bad case of Face Several Shades Darker Than Neck and Body. Add a luminous white scalp, and I’ll look downright Neapolitan. Or, if you prefer honesty, I’m not feeling bold enough to be truly bald; even being a buzzed female feels dicey in a conservative field and town.