17c94b3b 78b8 4b79 b671 569011000d2b



helllo my name is winnie and i'm a sixteen year old loser who's very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very gay

Message to Readers

any constructive criticism will be appreciated, however as this is a personal piece i really would appreciate a more sensitive approach with this one. it's meant to be silly, not serious!

Cutting Ties

February 29, 2016


For months, all I have wanted to do was chop off all of my luscious curly locks once and for all. I'm not sure what triggered this desire for change, if I'm to be honest. Encouragement from those close to me? Those flawless androgynous people on tumblr? My so-called "angsty teenage rebellion"? I don't think I'll ever truly know, but regardless of what prompted it my mind was made up. It took weeks of begging and promises that will, admittedly, have a good chance of turning out to be false in the long run. "I'll keep it tidy!" "I'll straighten it every day!" Listing them all would be a nightmare.

My parents were distraught. They thought I might've just wanted to do it for attention at first. They couldn't understand why after years of having a beautiful yet unruly lion mane, I wanted to cut it all off. At the time, it didn't seem like it would be such a hard thing to do, hence why I couldn't understand my parents' reluctance to let me make such a large change to my appearance. But after a tearful explanation as to why I felt it was the right thing to do, followed by a brooding session with my stuffed animals for moral support, mum finally budged and booked me a hair appointment.

The original plan was for me to wait a couple more months until my next cut and colour appointment. I get my hair dyed a delightful chocolate colour every 5-6 months, and at this point I'm only a couple of months away from a re-dye. Sadly, I have a horrific tendency to be impatient when it comes to wanting to look physically attractive. In my defence, I'm very unfamiliar with being considered a desirable human being. Of course, being surrounded by daft, pre-pubescent boys for the majority of your schooling years and being the only homosexual from your graduating class can have that effect. I was ecstatic about being able to try something new that I'd wanted for so long, and to prove to my beloved guardians that this wouldn't just be some attention-seeking emo stunt like they had labelled my love for black lipstick as. Then, of course, came the anxiety.

I had never wanted to cut my hair so short before. As a very little girl, I despised haircuts. Rapunzel was my personal hero, if I remember correctly. My mind began racing with "what if's" and potential negative scenarios. I had the constant reassurance of my favourite person in the entire cosmos to soothe my concerns, but even her excitement couldn't quite snatch the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. The best I could do prior to the haircut was to try and drown them in peach iced tea. As cruel as that figure of speech is, it's an accurate representation of how I felt. I was scared. A good kind of scared, but scared nonetheless.

For a while, it was a bob. And as adorable as it was, it was not what I had gone to Stefan for. Mum knew my habit of not speaking up when unhappy with something would most likely prevent me from asking to go shorter, so she asked for me. Thanks, mum! Fortunately, the lady cutting my hair was more than happy to get it to the length I preferred. All of my hairdressers so far have been lovely people, despite what my art teacher thinks most hairdressers are like. Not important. In the end, I had the biggest smile on my face from how my hair had turned out. I was in love.

Looking down to the floor was a little emotional. The space underneath my chair was absolutely coated in thick hair. It was almost like losing a piece of myself. This realisation didn't bother me until very late at night, when the distractions of haircuts and bike rides on extremely aesthetic mint green hipster bikes were far behind me. Had I really gone and cut off something so significant to me? How long would it be until I was able to do another beloved messy bun, or wear a hair bow to compliment my favourite lion sweater on rainy days? I felt conflicted. I still do. But the positive reaction from my family, which was soon followed by the praise my peers gave me for the new look quickly pushed all doubts away.

So here I sit, writing the epic conclusion to a timeless moment. My doubts are still with me, but there's nothing I can do about them now. The most important part of this whole experience is that I pushed myself to do something that made me happy, and that I didn't let my anxiety rule my life like I so often do. I encourage you, dear reader, to do what makes you happy as well. You may have your doubts about your decision, but when that favourite person of your's ruffles your hair for the first time, you'll forget all the regrets you have. Don't be afraid.
haha hooray finally something to post on write the world! this piece was inspired by my most recent push to get a pixie cut, which was somehow a journey worth putting into words. it's rare of me to write a personal piece, as i am very critical and harsh towards myself and find a lot of difficulty writing as if i'm the character and whatever moment in time i choose is my story. the last time i wrote anything really personal was a memoir for grade 7 english. i had chosen an event that had taken place a few months before receiving the task that i can only describe as the beginning of a friendship disappearing. i got top marks for the piece, but it was quite a difficult experience as it is not a memory i particularly enjoy recounting. thank god for this being a more light-hearted topic! to anyone who reads this: thank you for checking out my writing! It's because of you that I have the courage to try and do this sort of thing. happy writing, everyone x


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