Less Vain, More Sane (Still Pretty Vain, Though)
What is the opposite of looksmaxxing?
About a year ago, I stopped going to professional hair appointments and took over coloring my own hair. It wasn’t terrible, but let’s just say I didn’t want anyone inspecting the back of my head too closely.
My trusted stylist had gone on maternity leave and didn’t come back, leaving me adrift. In a desperate moment, I let a girl from high school—who I bumped into and knew was going through a rough patch—cut my hair.
When I told my friend, I confessed, “The cut wasn’t great, but she’s having a hard time, and I want to support her.” My friend didn’t hold back. She nearly shook me and said, “We can do charity…but not with our hair. Write her a check. Start a GoFundMe. Just keep her scissors away from your head.”
After that, my hair luck didn’t exactly improve. At one salon, I left with dye in my eye while the colorist casually mentioned they were wiped out from an EDM festival the night before.
So when I heard good things about a stylist recently, I walked into my appointment cautiously optimistic—maybe this would finally be the one.
Things started off well. She looked at the photos I brought, nodded thoughtfully, and got to work. She did the color and my scalp started to burn—just a little too much. But hey, that happens sometimes, right? Once it eased up after washing, I told myself it was no big deal.
That optimism started to vanish when she paused mid snip to launch into a full blown rant about how vaccines cause nearly every case of autism. With scissors that close to my head, I found myself also nodding along to the benefits of raw milk like a hostage.
When I finally turned to the mirror, I was stunned. Despite explicitly saying no layers, there they were—aggressively attacking my head. I looked like some unholy mix of Jon Bon Jovi, a woman with a 95% chance of demanding to speak to the manager, and someone who might have run a nightclub in Serbia circa 1985.
She generously offered to “add a wave,” as if that would magically transform the look. I politely declined and bolted out. I pulled out my phone to cancel plans with my best friend that evening, unable to face anyone out of sheer mortification. I pulled up the hood on my jacket, drove home, and cried…a level of drama I haven’t hit over a haircut since third grade.
When the tears finally dried and the initial shock wore off, I started to see a glimmer of hope (with a hat securely in place, of course). It was time to shift into problem solving mode. I told myself, “I can fix this. It’s going to be okay.”
I googled “what to do after a bad haircut.” The internet, as always, was ready with solutions…
Get hair extensions!… awesome, let me just spend $700 to fix a $200 mistake.
If it’s a bad cut, dye it a new color! You think homegirl didn’t already hook me up with some Stripper Streaks?
Know that God loves us all, each and every one of us… this one works for approximately 3.5 seconds?
Wear big earrings, scarves, get inventive with updos! Okay, earrings and scarves might be a bit of a stretch for hiding a haircut. Although I did go down a rabbit hole of searching for cute vintage Italian barrettes and pony tail holders to try and adorn a bad situation.
I sifted through advice about what to do, but the beauty content all felt the same—buy more to fix a feeling, try harder. It was draining, and it framed me as the problem.
So what now? How do I survive this awkward haircut without spiraling while it grows out? And more importantly, how do I make peace in general with what’s already here—whether it’s a haircut or all the other little things I wish I could change—without feeling trapped in a constant cycle of “fixing”?
The best (and least expensive) solution started to look like caring just a little less—not in a “throwing in the towel” way, but in a “reclaiming my sanity” way. Because here’s the thing: the harder you chase an idealized version of yourself, the further away it seems to get.
Here are a few ways I’m trying to relax and stop driving myself nuts…