The Power Of The Chop: How Cutting My Hair Short Changed The Way I Viewed Life

Growing up, I learnt early that long hair was a form of social currency. It was praised by aunties, featured in shampoo ads, and constantly reinforced through cultural messaging that 'good girls' have long hair. The longer, shinier and silkier it was, the more it seemed to symbolise discipline, femininity and even moral worth.

So, when I walked into the salon that morning, I wasn't planning on doing something dramatic. I'd told myself it was "just a trim," but somewhere between the consultation chair and the cape being fastened around my neck, something shifted. I pointed to a photo of a textured bob and said, "Let's do it."

There was a beat of silence before the stylist smiled, almost knowingly, as if he'd seen this before: women walking in uncertain, walking out unburdened.

The first snip felt violent, a sharp sound that echoed somewhere between fear and liberation. I watched as my long strands fell to the ground. It felt like I was watching a version of myself disappear.

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Scissors As A Symbol Of Letting Go

It's strange how hair holds memory. Each inch carried years of who I'd been — the girl who wanted to fit in, who feared taking up too much space, who played it safe. Cutting it off wasn't just about changing my look. It was about confronting the quiet ways I'd kept myself small. "Short hair doesn't suit everyone," people would say, and I'd internalised that as it doesn't suit me.

However, when I caught my reflection after the cut — sharp lines framing my face, neck exposed —something in me softened. I looked more 'me' than I had in years.

Historically, women cutting their hair has carried subversive undertones. In the 1920s, flappers chopped their hair into bobs as a declaration of independence. During wartime, women working in factories cut theirs for practicality, inadvertently redefining beauty standards. In recent years, the 'breakup haircut' has become a cultural shorthand for reinvention —a way of saying, I'm not who I was yesterday. But beyond the pop culture tropes, there's something profoundly political about taking control of how you look in a world that's constantly telling you what you should look like.

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When Beauty Becomes Rebellion

What surprised me most was how many people had opinions about it. "You looked prettier before," said my brother. "You look stronger now," said a friend. I wasn't sure which was meant as a compliment.

There's a discomfort society feels when women opt out of the script. We've been conditioned to believe that beauty must be performative —that it exists for others' consumption. Short hair challenges that. It disrupts the male gaze, it resists conventional femininity, and it signals something quietly radical: autonomy.

Over the next few days, I began noticing subtle shifts. I walked with ease. I made eye contact more often. I said 'no' more easily. There's something about looking in the mirror and seeing a woman who chose change —on her own terms —that emboldens you in ways you don't expect.

The quiet reassurance behind every chop is that hair grows back. But sometimes, it's not about what grows back —it's about what doesn't. The fear, the hesitation, the need for approval —they all start to shed too.

My hair will grow back, sure. But the version of me who thought she couldn't be beautiful, powerful, or whole without long hair? She's gone for good.

Image courtesy: Freepik

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