Last week, I cut baby bangs on a whim. Think mid-forehead, with my eyebrows peeking through like a glimpse of ankle in Victorian times. The reactions were very entertaining. One of my best friends asked me, “Why can I see your eyebrows?”
I managed to put off FaceTiming my parents for a few days because I knew what they were going to say: a lot of “ohh, oh no” and “uhmm, it’s quite short.” My dad even compared me to an Argentine politician (thanks, I guess?). I used to look for external validation to feel confident about my hair but, after spending a few years undergoing various experiments with my hairstyle, my hair no longer feels like a massive weight on my shoulders.
This past March, a week before my Spring Break trip with my gals, I decided to finally cut bangs. I had been cutting curtain bangs for a while, but I decided it was time to commit to the bit. I didn’t cut the blunt kind, but the open, parted-in-the-middle type that covers the forehead. I fell in love with them — exactly what I had envisioned on my mental Pinterest board — and I’ve been cutting them myself ever since.
But it took me a while to find my style. Over the past few years, I’ve experimented with all sorts of cuts. When I was little, my mom gave me a side part that stuck with me throughout childhood. It wasn’t until I got curtain bangs in high school that I realized a middle part even existed.
In high school, I developed trichotillomania — the compulsive urge to pull out hair — replacing my childhood habit of biting my nails with a new one. After a few months of oddly short strands of hair in some spots, I decided an undercut was the way to go. While it helped with the hair-pulling, it was horrid to grow back, so I transitioned to a bob. I came to Duke with that haircut and now have long locks.
Now, I've had my fair share of disastrous haircuts. Once, I left the salon and cried for so long my mom thought something serious had happened. Another time, a botched bang trim led me to cancel plans with a friend as we were hanging out (yes, I’ve apologized). I developed a deep mistrust of salons and felt no one understood what I wanted. So I started to cut my own hair; it’s freeing to take scissors to your hair and know there’s no one to blame but yourself.
Still, the first day with new bangs was nightmarish. It felt like everyone was seeing me for the first time, and those impressions weren’t necessarily flattering. But after a few days, I learned to rock them. If someone thinks something negative, I doubt they’ll have the balls to say it to my face. I wouldn’t care anyway, because it’s just hair and I’m still me.
There’s a scene in "Sex and the City" where my favorite character is diagnosed with breast cancer. She loses her hair due to chemo and starts experimenting with wigs, and in the process, realizes her identity isn’t tied to her hair. At one point, she even lets go of the wigs, embracing her newly grown pixie cut. Before that season, her defining feature might have been her blonde locks, but no matter what hairstyle she rocked, she was still her same, fierce self. It got me thinking about how identity and hair — or any form of self-expression — can be two separate things.
It’s safe to say we’ve probably all had bad hair days — ones where we’re internally screaming for it to cooperate. But relying on hair to determine our identities sets us up for failure. Hairstyles, like trends, are fleeting. And trying to keep up with what’s "in" or "out" means chasing a standard that constantly changes, rather than embracing our authentic selves.
My hair has become a journey of self-discovery. Changing it reminds me that I’m not confined to one look or a single identity — I have the freedom to grow, evolve and transform, just like my hair. When life feels like it’s spiraling out of control, my hair is a way for me to regain it — it's like hitting refresh on my look and my mindset all at once.
I’ve been told so many times that hair holds memories. But why should it become an embodiment of the past? For me, the haircuts become the memories. Each new style marks a beginning, turning my hair into a canvas for new experiences rather than a record of my history.
Each haircut has taught me something new — whether it was accidentally tapping into my more masculine side, laughing at a happy accident (thank you, Bob Ross!) or turning how I saw myself upside down. There’s an undeniable sense of liberty in experimenting with your hair. It’s taking control of your own narrative, shaping it how you want. Hair grows with us, but it isn’t us.
Cutting my own hair has also made me care less about how I present myself to others. If one strand is longer than the others, who cares? It’s okay to embrace the chaos, to laugh at the imperfections, and to learn as you go. The process of change is often more important than the result. If you accept that your hairstyle isn’t the ultimate measure of who you are, you open yourself up to a more vibrant and fluid sense of self. Hair is messy and fleeting, and so is life.
Experimenting with different hairstyles shifts the focus from how others see you to how you see yourself. It’s a way to better understand your identity and realize that your true self isn’t defined by something as impermanent as hair.
And here’s the thing: Your hair doesn’t have to be the only way you express yourself. It’s just one small part of a much bigger picture. Your interests, your passions, your values — those are the things that truly define who you are.
Cutting your hair isn’t just for finding your style; it can also help you become more resilient and open to change. Each time you experiment with your look, you take ownership of your decisions, identity and personal chaos. You shape your narrative.
Our confidence shouldn’t be tied to how we look, but rather to the true self-esteem that comes from within. So screw what people think about your acne, your jorts or your crocs. Life’s too short to care what others see when they look at you. Those who truly care will see you beyond the vessel you occupy.
So, next time you see yourself in the mirror, I challenge you to question how you think about your hair. For me, hair is an accessory for self-expression, not a definition of who I am. Maybe it can be that for you, too.
What are you waiting for? You never know what could happen until you grab some scissors and give it a try. After all, if a frat bro can rock a buzzcut, so can you.
Valentina Garbelotto is a Trinity junior. Her column, “Dear comfort zone: It’s not me, it’s you. Time to break up…”, typically runs on alternate Thursdays.
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