Everyone gets hair cabin fever. It’s kind of a rite of passage from the worrisome days of high school into the “freedom” that college offers you. But instead of dying the shit out of my hair the moment I got to college, I laid low on the drastic hairdo bandwagon and shuffled into the background of obnoxious locks.

My hair remained a remnant of my days as a band scene junkie, a small streak of blonde left over as an afterthought when I got rid of the highly contrasted blonde/brown hair I was rocking (seriously, when I put it into a ponytail it looked like a crude mockery of a black and white cookie). I longed for something to kick my drab ‘do into overdrive. I wanted something that people wouldn’t normally do; something that would send girls into a tizzy because of the balls I had just grown and have the men worry whether or not I could kick their ass. After a few shots of cheap vodka, a cigarette, and my roommate telling me to “just fucking do it.” (Which may or may not have been the catalyst to my decision) I grabbed my roommate’s brother’s clippers and shaved a nice section of hair off. As I watched the chunks fall mercilessly into the garbage can beneath my feet, I felt a bit like Natalie Portman in V for Vendetta except with much, much less crying and most of my hair still attached to the follicles.

After cleaning up the small part next to my left ear that I had taken a good 10 inches of hair off of, I rubbed the peach fuzz that now rested next to my temple. The feeling of the cool wintery air across my scalp was enough to make my anxiety soar. Well, I couldn’t really do much with it now that I had a 3×4 section of hair missing, so I just went with it. It definitely took a lot of getting used to but in the end I was incredibly and surprisingly satisfied with the look. It was just enough badassery to fit into the fashionable category, but was still able to be covered up if I had to head home to the conservative suburbs of my hometown in New Jersey (yes, those exist). I had a very low side part, tons of hair on the right side of my head, and I definitely looked like a brunette Alice Dellal minus the modeling contract, in my opinion. It became who I was on my college campus. I was known as the girl with the shaved head, which was both a gift and a curse. I embraced it every chance that I got; I let my head taste the cool breeze without vacillation.

My boyfriend had a love/hate relationship with it. He enjoyed the amount of confidence I had in myself to do something that was out of the box, but sort of felt a bit uncomfortable with the fact that when his hand brushed over the missing patch, it felt like he had mistaken my head for one of his friends. Understandably so, but hell, I looked freaking awesome.

To those thinking about trying out this style, word to the wise: make sure you’re completely comfortable with the decision. Yes, it is hair and yes, it does grow back. But come on, you just shaved your head. You didn’t just get a bad eyebrow waxing. It takes many, many, MANY months to grow back, so be patient, young Padawan. Shaving you’re head is like getting a tattoo. Done right, and done after much deliberation, it is almost guaranteed to look amazing. Done with no thought behind it, in the back alley of someone’s apartment building with a pair of rusty scissors and a straight razor, not so much. After a few months getting in touch with my inner grungy angst-ridden self, I let my hair do what hair does. It’s definitely going to take a while for a hairdresser to give me a normal cut without having to mention the immense length difference, but besides that, it hasn’t caused me much distress. Shaving my head was a decision I’m glad I made at the moment that I did, but probably not something I’ll do again anytime soon. Then again, who knows what boredom and a pair of scissors will bring me in the future?