I had come back from the dreaded dark store across town, just 10 minutes before, I looked almost bald and I did not enjoy my new look. If only I had told the exact amount which he wanted get his cut. Instead I came back from the barber looking balder than guinea pig. I never wanted to let myself outside again. It was the feeling of not only embarrassment, but the feeling of knowing how the feel of kids touching my hair and whenever I run that feeling of air going through your hair and past your ears. That feeling of knowing you're near to being bald.

For some, they enjoy their haircuts. If it’s that feeling of the air cutting straight past you, making you feel as fast as an f1 car going 200+ miles n’ hour with the signal of the checkered flag or that feeling of knowing that they have more freedom to mess around with their hair before that freedom goes away again. Then, there are those who hate them. I as guilty as charged, fall under that category. I really don’t know why. It’s either the embarrassment of looking bald or that feeling of knowing that your going to be teased by your friend group the second you even go near them. 

You then notice that one guy that comes into school or whatever place they went to meet people and not give a single care in the world. He could look as bald a guinea pig and not even care. He could have the messiest hair, he still won’t care. You then ask them why they aren’t phased by the comments or the teasing or anything and that’s when you realize, that you care too much about what other people think over what you really want yourself to look like.

I always look back on haircuts as something fun and something to laugh upon at sad times.