Stories | Unfiltered | Self-improvement
Why I Shaved My Head at 21 (Despite It Probably Being My Best Feature)
Those monks might be onto something…
Are… are you sure?
My barber asked with a shocked expression. You know what you’re asking me to do, right?
Yeah, I want you to shave off all my hair, I replied, sitting down in the chair confidently (when really I was sh*tting myself quite a bit).
Slightly taken aback, he started preparing his equipment. You’re going to feel quite cold from now on, he joked.
I closed my eyes.
15 minutes later, I opened them, staring back at my bald head in all its glory for the first time, my barber grinning shyly in the background with a curious expression.
I’d always considered my hair to be one of my best features.
For the 21 years I’ve been on this Earth, I’d never seen myself without hair on my head. I felt like it only made sense to get fully acquainted with my scalp.
And although it is certainly an odd experience, it isn’t one I regret.
Here’s my reasons for doing it.
Change of identity
Identity is the driving force behind everything you do.
Every outcome in your life is the result of an action you’ve taken.
The actions you take are a consequence of your beliefs. Your beliefs are a consequence of your identity.
To change your actions with the most effectiveness, you should strike at the heart of the cause: your identity.
Before I decided to shave my hair, I was in a constant rut. I found myself conceding to the same fears and regressing into old bad habits every few weeks.
I felt the need to radically change my actions. I wanted to make the future I wanted a reality. So, to break out of this nasty cycle, I decided to radically change my identity.
I wanted to kill my current identity and replace it with a more fitting persona — one capable of achieving the actions I wanted to consistently take.
Shaving my hair off makes this visually more believable.
I do look like a different person after all lol.
For me, shaving my hair off represents:
- committing to my new self,
- renunciation of old self and habits, and
- focusing on what’s important
There’s a very good reason people in the army have their hair shaved as they enlist.
It’s a symbol of transformation — the first step of leaving yourself behind and evolving into this new disciplined, tough and rigorous person capable of engaging in deadly armed warfare.
Although I look worse without hair (objectively), the point isn’t to look better or satiate my vanity.
In fact, that was one of my many fears at first:
- what if I look like a skinhead neo-nazi?
- what if I hate how I look, my hair doesn’t end up growing back and I remain permanently bald (a terrifying outcome)?
- and the biggie: what will everyone think of me!??
It turns out nobody cares that I shaved my hair.
Hell, even I didn’t care at first all that much. I expected myself to recoil in horror at the first sight of myself.
All I did was laugh and accept my new self.
Take monks, for example, who are a symbol of baldness. They have so little in life — not even hair — yet they remain happier than everyone else; they don’t care if they look better with hair or without.
This brings me to the next point:
Renunciation of attachments
Oh my god! Cried my mum in shock, jumping backwards and staring in disbelief. I thought someone had broken into the house! You look so different, she said, still gazing as if I had grown a halo.
I never told her I was having my hair shaved.
You know it’s rude to stare? I remarked back, walking past her towards the mirror. Ironically, I think this style is starting to grow on me.
It was only a few months ago I told my mum that if I ever went bald I’d get a hair transplant.
Well, I guess beat nature to it.
For most of my adolescent life, I’ve been attached to my hair. I saw it as the only thing separating my mild attractiveness (perhaps that’s too flattering) from ugliness.
As I got older I slowly got more obsessed over how my hair looked, how it was styled and how much of it was still left.
That’s because I’ll likely go bald (I mean, have you seen my hairline? It’s quite tragic). My hair was precious to me.
And this — the likelihood of going bald — was bothering me.
But I soon realised I have no control over whether or not I go bald. So why would I bother worrying about it?
After all: what do I have to lose (other than a little bit of hair)?
The attachment I had to my hair gave me unnecessary stress. Maybe getting rid of it would solve this problem.
This is why monks go bald — they opt for renunciation of desires and attachments to achieve a single state of mind… one of calm mindfulness.
Since monks consistently rank as the happiest and most fulfilled people in the world, despite spending most of their days in silence without possessions, I think it’s worth taking note.
So, I try to adapt as much from them as possible.
This was just one of those things.
First, I noticed all the highly disciplined people in the army shave their hair. Then I saw the fulfilled monks shave consistently as well.
Once I figured out what they knew, it only seemed obvious to experiment and do the same.
Now I’ve got 99 problems, but my hair ain’t one (sorry).
Extreme actions = extreme change
When walking out of the barbers with my new look, I expected to feel tempted to run home and hide away in embarrassed fright.
Instead, I walked out with a sense of pride (and a much colder head; turns out my barber was right).
I felt tempted to pull my hood up to hide my lack of hair from the world. But I didn’t. I wanted to notice how I felt and embrace what I looked like.
As I walked past people down the street, I realised something.
Nobody cares.
I didn’t get so much as a glance from a single person. I guess I’m really not the centre of the universe after all. Strange.
It was oddly liberating to realise, tangibly, that nobody cares if I look silly or different. Getting social proof that nobody cared felt exciting.
I felt free, like I had a weight lifted from my shoulders (joke unfortunately intended).
Shaving my hair off felt like an extreme action. After attaching it to my identity and appearance for so long, the thought of having it shaved off seemed like an abstract concept. One that I resisted heavily at first.
The actions further from our comfort zone — that induce the greatest resistance — are the ones we learn the most from.
It seemed like a quick way to learn some potent lessons.
After all, there is no winning or losing, only winning and learning — an idea I’m trying to normalise. And I think this experience has helped to reinforce that.
There are also some other benefits to having less hair which are underrated:
- use less shampoo, so you save money,
- less styling products needed, saving more money,
- no time wasted on having to style hair,
- less stress about making your hair look nice or neat (yay for laziness),
- exposes flaws in your face & skin that your hair distracted from.
Conclusion
Being bald has never been so cool (so I tell myself).
If you’re looking for a weird change or shift in identity, give it a go! It’s also a fun way to surprise friends and family.
I’ve not regretted it — even though I think I look worse.
But why should that matter? I only try to look that much better for other people.
And I just realised that none of these “people” care.
Maybe those monks are onto something after all.
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