The Bob, The Breakup, And The Boss Energy That Follows

“Oh my god, why did you cut your hair short?” She smiled and said, “I just had a breakup, as you know. I don’t know—I wasn’t able to move on. I didn’t feel free. It’s like I had to let go of all the memories.” A haircut after heartbreak—classic, right? Some might call it impulsive or silly. But have you ever stopped to think about why it’s so common? For a girl, whose beauty has so often been tied to her hair, cutting it off is not just a style decision—it’s a quiet, powerful rebellion. It’s a way of saying: I’m not that version of me anymore. 

If you loved me with long hair—the person I was back then—can you also love this newer version of me? The one who’s been through things, who’s healing, changing, growing? Cutting hair, in that sense, makes complete sense. It’s not just about appearance—it’s about taking control of your story. Taking power back into your own hands. 

Why Hair Isn’t Just Hair: Taking Back the Narrative

This was just one story. One perspective. But the real point is this: how can something as simple as hair carry so much meaning for women? 

From the time we're little girls, there's a ritual to it—hair oiling, tight braids, compliments like “she has such beautiful hair.” It becomes a part of how we're told to be good, pretty, acceptable. So when a woman suddenly decides to go for a short haircut—for whatever reason—the first reaction isn't support. It's shock. 

"Why did you cut your hair? It was so long!" 

"You spoiled it." 

As if her hair isn’t hers—but belongs to everyone else’s idea of who she should be. As if she doesn’t have the right to rewrite her look, her story, her self. 

But the moment she does take that right—the moment she picks up the metaphorical scissors—suddenly, people feel unsettled. It's like she’s grabbed the whip, taken control of her image, and society isn’t sure what to do with a woman who no longer seeks approval. 

And then there are those girls who’ve always had short hair. Not because they couldn’t grow it, but because they chose not to. Maybe they associated short hair with strength, with being ‘tomboyish,’ with pushing against the softness expected of them. Because we all know how often masculinity gets linked to power. So some women decide: if power looks like this, then I’ll wear it too. Maybe not to be “like men,” but to stop being dismissed as fragile or passive. 

In both cases, the act is the same: a woman says, This is mine. My hair. My choice. My version of beauty. And that’s enough to shake people. 

It doesn’t matter—long hair or short hair—a woman who feels empowered is always her most beautiful self. Every strand holds a story. Let her style it how she wants to. 

If you’ve already decided that a woman’s hair is so important, then at the very least, give her the right to own it. To write her own version of beauty. 

If she’s going through emotional turmoil, let her cut it—or grow it—if that brings her peace. If she wants to be in her independent long-hair queen era, let her grow it out without saying, "Now you’re looking beautiful." She was beautiful. She is beautiful. She will always be beautiful. 

Her perspective on her hair might be different from yours. That’s the thing about perspectives—they’re scattered, personal. But together, they weave stories. 

Still, the scissors—the control—should always be in her hands. 

Let her do the bob cut if that makes her feel like a boss. Let her layer it like she’s slowly revealing the soft, resilient parts of herself. 
Let her go for the pixie if it makes her feel liberated, edgy, sassy. 

Just—let her flow. 

Views expressed by the author are their own.