A Ponytail Memoir

If you have known me for long, you probably know how insanely long and thick my hair was. Not to mention unruly. But I loved it. Long hair was a staple of my existence for the past decade and a half. When I did manage to find an hour to fix it, it was fabulous. Thick and shiny with lots of natural bounce. However, most days ended up being ponytail days.

I am not a morning person (surprise, surprise), so when I got a grown-up job, getting up an hour earlier than necessary to fix my hair just wasn’t an option. For several months I contemplated chopping off my lovely locks, but could never quite bring myself to do it. I pinned lots of ideas that I loved, but when it came down to it, I was too chicken.

But like every small annoyance, you eventually reach a breaking point. Mine came on a Saturday morning when I threw my hair up in a ponytail, as usual. I looked in the mirror and just decided I was done. Done with everyday ponytails, done with an hour to fix my hair. I walked into the living room and briefly warned the hubs of my plans and then headed off to the salon.

I thought the woman was going to have a stroke when I told her to chop it all off. She told me that I had enough to donate to Locks of Love, and that only convinced me more that this was what I wanted to do. She put my hair in a ponytail, got the scissors and said: “Last chance. Are you sure?”

I took a deep breath and said “Cut it off.”

It took several slices of the scissors to cut through the entire mane-like ponytail, but in a few seconds I opened my eyes as she held up what used to be my ponytail. Whoa.


After having long hair since second grade, it was surprisingly freeing to chop it off. It now takes me a glorious 15 minutes to fix my hair and I have yet to regret the death of the ponytail.

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