Haircut

There’s nothing like cleaning yourself up — this time, a haircut — on the heels of change and good news.

I remember the day I outgrew the standard Asian bowl cut and started getting my hair short or spiked — September 11, 2002. I remember when I started to move beyond my punk/goth, baggy cargo pants style and wear jeans for the first time since childhood — Late December, 2004. Wore contacts for a time, starting in early 2008. Moved to the plastic, black-rimmed glasses style in January 2009. Bought my first pair of High-Top Chuck Taylors last year. And so on.

These seemingly insignificant minor details, etched into my memory by the context of those dates and timeframes. Eras and short phases of my life, (very very) vaguely denoted by a (sometimes misplaced) sense of conscious outward change.

I think most everybody does this — whether or not they admit or realize it.

No, there weren’t any actual style changes for me this time — but it’s a haircut nonetheless. And it’s nice to avoid growing the mop-topped near-mullet that my head likes to sprout when unchecked.