Haircut

 Usually, when I went to barbershops, I had no idea which haircut would suit me best. When the barber asked how I wanted to be cut, I’d say, “I don’t know,” and it always showed on their face as a mix of an incredibly tough task and some repulsive action they’d have to force themselves to do. So, over time, I just described the most popular haircut, and the barbers would do it without extra hassle or worry, while I pretended that’s exactly what I wanted—sometimes even convincing myself of it. But in reality, I was never satisfied with my haircut; there was always some “but.” Before flying from Poland to Canada, I found the nearest barbershop and got a haircut just to check it off the list. At the time, my haircut didn’t matter to me at all. I was going through a breakup with Aura and was in such a state that I cared about very little, if anything at all. I think that period was the most fake in my life. So, when my hair grew out a bit, I decided to let it grow long. I was living in a hotel then and found a woman from Ukraine who cut hair right in her room. I told her I wanted to grow my hair out and just needed a trim to keep my hairstyle from looking too hideous during the process. She trimmed it a bit and said there wasn’t much to do—just wait out this phase until it grew to a length that would suit me. I wasn’t too upset, to be honest; I didn’t care. I decided to grow my hair not because I was curious about how I’d look, but because I didn’t care and didn’t want to bother with monthly barbershop visits. I think that’s why I calmly waited for it to grow without stressing about my appearance.

When it reached almost shoulder-length, I noticed I actually had beautiful wavy hair. I loved those smooth, voluminous waves that flowed from my ears and effortlessly transitioned into nearly straight ends. But as they kept growing, their own weight turned my gorgeous voluminous waves into a flat calm, which I didn’t like as much. Plus, they started getting in my way, so I began using a hair tie more often. The problem was that when I tied them back, they were so pressed against my scalp that they added no volume to my head, except for those half-grown strands that weren’t long enough to reach the tie. Those stuck out in all directions, like shards scattering my hopes for a decent hairstyle.
So, I decided to get a haircut. I made this decision during the first week of my shift as a security guard at a mall in a small town in northern Manitoba. Since I usually work a two-weeks-on, two-weeks-off schedule, I figured I’d get a haircut as soon as I got back and even started looking for a well-reviewed barbershop. But a small emergency came up, and I had to stay for another shift—another two weeks. During my last workweek, my friend Lisa told me she’d gotten a haircut and loved it, so she recommended her barber, not even knowing I’d decided to get a haircut since I hadn’t told her. I thanked her and was determined to follow her advice, knowing that if Lisa recommended something, she’d not only thoroughly vetted it but was genuinely happy with the result. Honest people like her are hard to find. So, I used the contact and booked an appointment.

When I got back to Winnipeg, I had one extra day before the haircut. I decided not to waste it and went shopping for some summer clothes since summer was in full swing. I wanted to buy sandals and a lightweight short-sleeve shirt made of linen or, if I couldn’t find that, cotton. I was also considering a hat. After visiting many stores, mostly searching for sandals, my shopping was done in just over half a day. As usual, I bought more than planned, but most importantly, I found decent sandals—not exactly what I wanted but good enough—and a lightweight shirt that was half linen, half cotton. I also found a nice hat in one of the pricier stores and didn’t skimp on it because it really stood out from the hats I’d seen before. I also got new shorts, made of natural materials and feeling very light.
The next day, while showering, I washed my hair and started getting ready for the haircut. I knew a haircut is part of your appearance, so I was going to a place where appearance matters. If I wanted a good haircut, I had to look the part. I put on my new clothes, which I really liked, sprayed on my best cologne, moisturized my face and hands with cream, and even brushed my teeth again before heading out. I considered shaving—I had some light stubble—but didn’t have time and thought it might be better this way, as it added a bit of scruffiness to my look. I wanted that touch of scruffiness in my new haircut too. Plus, I was in a great mood after shopping and fully ready for a change. I had no regrets about cutting the hair I’d been growing for over a year and a half. In short, from the moment I decided to get a haircut to the actual appointment, I prepared for it as much as I could.
The barbershop was inside a mall with tons of stores and salons. I arrived half an hour early to find the salon I was booked for. Entering the mall, I went straight to the information board, which wasn’t a standard modern touchscreen with a location search function but a big, illuminated paper map behind clear plastic. The map didn’t even show where I was standing, so I had to find both the salon’s location and my own to plan a route. Once I did, I realized the place I’d been looking for was right next to me, and I didn’t need to go anywhere.

Approaching the barbershop, I noticed a girl at the reception who looked just like her profile picture in the messenger where we’d arranged the appointment. I went up to say hi and introduce myself in person. Her name was Tatiana. Her hair was styled practically but not without elegance. A tool poked out of her work apron pocket, and her T-shirt was loose and comfortable for work. Her square glasses added a touch of sternness to her practical look, but her sincere eyes and kind smile completely softened it. She politely led me to the chair. I’d arrived in my new hat, but there was nowhere to put it, so Tanya offered to store it in the back room. When she returned, she asked what haircut I wanted. This time, I was prepared. After watching various hairdressing videos, I’d determined I had a rectangular or oblong head shape and that voluminous cuts at the temples would suit me best. I also said I didn’t want a super short cut, but the length shouldn’t bother me without needing a hair tie or other tools. After hearing my wishes, Tanya immediately said my head wasn’t oblong but oval, shattering all my efforts to figure it out and pick suitable cuts. I laughed and said that since I was so clueless about hairdressing, I was counting on her. This was actually a good thing—it put more responsibility on her for my haircut, giving her more room for creativity and ideas to work with my hair. The most important thing at that moment was her expression. She didn’t see this as another annoying chore. Instead, I saw thoughtfulness in her eyes, focused on my head, already sorting through options for how to cut me best. I didn’t see heaviness in her gaze, only interest. At that moment, I knew I could fully relax and enjoy the process. I already sensed my haircut wouldn’t be bad or even just okay—I was only wondering how great it would be.
Tanya picked up her scissors, and my transformation began. I sat quietly, afraid to distract her, but she started talking to me, and I realized it wouldn’t interfere with her work. Since I’d mentioned that Lisa recommended her, she asked how we met. I started telling the story, trying to include all the important details so there wouldn’t be obvious follow-up questions, which made my story a bit longer than Tanya expected—she even pointed it out—and longer than I expected too. But we ended up chatting, which helped my haircut because I tried to be as open as possible, signaling that she didn’t need to fear making mistakes. I knew fear is a creativity-killer, the biggest enemy of imagination and innovation. The only thing I didn’t like during the haircut was the constant feeling of sidelong glances from Tanya’s coworker. She was working right behind us and heard everything we said. I don’t even remember what she looked like—I only saw her briefly a couple of times and didn’t pay much attention—but I still remember how she felt. I’d describe her as a plump sixty-year-old woman with dry, shoulder-length gray hair, a crooked nose, and a very displeased face. It seemed like her displeasure filled the space around her, growing with every minute of my friendly chat with Tanya. My only worry was that this displeasure wouldn’t start seeping into Tatiana.

I watched as, step by step, my face changed in the mirror during the haircut. I liked it—I saw so many versions of myself. I hadn’t even thought I could look so different. Tanya said people usually get surprised when they drastically change their haircut. So, toward the end, I tried not to look in the mirror to make the change more striking. When she finished, she handed me another mirror to check the back. Seeing myself in the mirrors, I didn’t want to look away. Tanya asked if I was surprised, but I said no. I wasn’t surprised because I knew from the start the haircut would be great. But I was blown away—I couldn’t stop staring, like I was meeting a new me. I loved what I saw; for the first time in my life, I genuinely liked my haircut. I confidently declared it was the best haircut of my life, earning a sincere smile from Tatiana and another displeased sidelong glance from the old lady nearby.
The next day, I went for a walk with Lisa in the park, asking her to take some photos of me, which she happily agreed to. I wanted to update my profile picture on social media and messengers. As we walked and talked about various interesting things, including my new haircut and its role in my life, we took photos on the way to the park, in the park, and in a nearby grove. Looking through the photos, I somehow didn’t feel like posting any of them. None captured what I saw. I had to think about why I even post photos on social media. I always did it so people who wanted to find me could recognize me and not have to search long among similar names, and so people messaging me could see who they were talking to. That’s why my profile pictures were always close-ups, and I changed them every few years. Because my haircut was so perfect and no photo could convey what I wanted to show, I realized I’d spent my whole life posting photos for others, not for myself. I didn’t need them there at all. Without a photo, people messaging me would connect with me better, focusing more on my words. And if someone wanted to find and contact me, doing so without a photo would prove it was at least somewhat important to them—otherwise, no need to bother me with trivial stuff. So, as strange and paradoxical as it sounds, Tatiana cut my hair so well that I deleted all my photos from social media and have no plans to add new ones.