Recently, I cut about 12″ of my hair off. I went from this:

To this:

Robin Wright was my inspiration – that woman is gorgeous, sexy, powerful, and she sports a short haircut.

Robin Wright – my girl crush

I love my new short haircut. I know I won’t have it short forever, eventually I’ll get bored and grow it out again but for now I love it. And most other people do too, even my husband who prefers long hair.

But not everyone has been supportive or complimentary of my new short do. One man, a stranger who I’d only seen a few times in my office building, insisted I looked better with long hair. Another man questioned my decision, he seemed unable to accept that I would willingly cut all my hair off, as if a woman sporting short hair was a crime against femininity. This of course royally pissed me off and prompted me to write a poem.

“Why did you cut your hair?” he asked, staring

slightly mystified. 

Weeks earlier I’d lost my Rapunzel locks,

modeling the actress I adored – 

my girl crush so strong for this woman 

I had a hard-on for her. With no fewer than a dozen

photos of her on my phone I adored everything about her – 

her style, her class, her power, and yes, her pixie hair.

“Was it a dare? A bet?”

his words broke my thoughts. 

I hated that he needed a reason – as if

I couldn’t possibly have chopped off

12″ of my hair voluntarily. As if I were less

of a woman with short hair.

I looked at him, still waiting for my answer.

“Because I fucking wanted to,” I said and walked away.