“You’re all set,” the hairstylist told me with a sigh of relief. “You really gave me a tough challenge this time.”
I opened my eyes, taking a full ten seconds to gather myself and recognize the girl in the mirror as me. My hair had never been this short—barely grazing my ears on the sides, stopping right at the nape in the back, with bangs awkwardly hovering just above my eyebrows.
Walking out of the salon, I felt a nervous flutter, like a child who had just done something mischievous. How will my parents react? Will people say I look bad?
Ever since I let go of my long hair in sixth grade, I’ve experimented with all kinds of short hairstyles—wavy, slightly short, even as short as it could possibly get. I became a regular at the hair salon, showing up every few months, yet never once did I walk through that door feeling at ease. Getting a haircut has always felt like a risky game. Long hair is easy—it can be styled, fixed, or hidden if something goes wrong. But with short hair, there are only two options: accept it or wear a hat until it grows back.
Leena Dong, a Vietnamese-Canadian TikToker, once posted a video “warning” women not to cut their hair just because a celebrity made it look cool: “Don’t cut your hair short, girls. I thought I’d look cute, but look at me—I look like somebody’s mom.”
As an Asian woman, I was taught that hair is a woman’s most precious asset. Shampoo commercials always told me that to be confident, I needed long, thick, and healthy hair. It took me months of hesitation before I finally dared to get this ultra-short bixie cut, mourning the long locks I had spent years growing. It felt almost sinful—like the moment those scissors sliced through my dark strands, I was also severing my natural beauty, all for the sake of a fleeting whim.
Even after I started feeling comfortable with what I saw in the mirror, I still had to face the backhanded compliments. The first day I showed up at school with my new haircut, my classmates took pictures of me and posted them on their stories with captions featuring the keyword “handsome.” How ironic—my haircut, even if it was considered attractive, was only attractive in a way no girl would want to be. Others joked that I must want to transition or that I had cut my hair because I wanted to “play for the other team.” Of course, I didn’t bother explaining my sexuality to them, but their comments made one thing clear—beauty standards were wrapped around my hair, tightening their grip.
What’s even sadder is that most of these standards are set by men. Earlier this year, a clip titled “The More Feminine, The More Loved” went viral, featuring an influencer confidently stating, “Guys love girls with long, black, or dark brown hair.” To attract male attention, women are pressured to be feminine, with long hair as the ultimate symbol of that femininity. On the flip side, short-haired women like me are scrutinized, labeled as too rebellious, too strong, too unfeminine—too undesirable. Perhaps that’s why so many women only dare to cut their hair short after a breakup or when they’re desperate for a transformation.
With all these risks, why do I still choose short hair?
If I’m being honest, at first, it was an act of rebellion against the norms that suffocated me. I wanted to look as effortlessly free and independent as the French singer I admired. But now, I’ve come to realize that women don’t need to cut their hair just to prove their strength—hairstyles shouldn’t define a person’s character or capabilities.
Still, I keep my hair short because I’ve grown to love the way I look in the mirror, with strands that curl just above my shoulders most of the time. With short hair, I get to be myself, to define beauty on my own terms, free from the rigid expectations of femininity or the exhausting pursuit of male approval. Even on bad hair days, when my hair sticks out at odd angles or refuses to cooperate, I walk outside with confidence, knowing I am still a complete woman—without needing to fit into society’s narrow definition of beauty. I believe that if someone is drawn to me, it will be because of my personality, my sincerity, and my ambitions—not the length or color of my hair.
And I certainly won’t wait for a man’s approval—or for him to call it a breakup—to decide on my next haircut. I’ll do it on my own terms, with the help of my trusted hairstylist, of course.
Mướp
for all the women who have made me who I am
