The Time I Became My Own Barber (Spoiler: It Didn’t Go Well)
We’ve all had those moments of overconfidence. You know, the ones where you think, “How hard could it be?” before diving headfirst into a task best left to professionals. For me, that moment arrived on a lazy Sunday afternoon when I stared at my reflection and decided, “I’m cutting my own hair.”
Let’s rewind. Salons were closed during a lockdown phase, my hair had reached what I’d describe as “scientist-in-a-movie” levels of chaos, and my patience had worn thinner than the last slice of bread. Armed with a shaky resolve and a YouTube tutorial titled “Easy DIY Haircuts for Beginners!” I gathered my tools: kitchen scissors, a handheld mirror, and a comb that had seen better days. What could possibly go wrong?
Phase 1: The Optimistic Prep Work
The video made it look so simple. The cheerful influencer snipped away at her model’s hair, explaining layers like she was reciting a nursery rhyme. I mimicked her setup—propping up the handheld mirror to see the back of my head, wrapping a towel around my shoulders like a cape, and even playing upbeat music to set the mood. This is going to be fun, I thought, ignoring the tiny voice whispering, You’ve never even trimmed split ends before.
Phase 2: The First Snip (And Immediate Regret)
Haircutting Rule 1: Scissors are sharp. I learned this the hard way when I accidentally nicked my ear during the inaugural snip. After a brief panic (and a Band-Aid), I regrouped. “Focus on the front,” the tutorial advised. “Start small!” I obediently trimmed my bangs, envisioning a chic, face-framing look. Instead, I got uneven chunks that resembled a toddler’s craft project.
Undeterred, I moved to the sides. “Just point-cut for texture!” the influencer chirped. I stabbed the air with my scissors, hoping for beachy waves. What I got was a jagged mess that made me look like I’d survived a confrontation with a lawnmower.
Phase 3: The Blind Panic
The real trouble began when I attempted the back. Rotating between two mirrors like a confused owl, I tried to replicate the “graduated layers” demonstrated in the video. But my hands refused to cooperate. One side ended up shorter than the other; the crown resembled a staircase. At one point, I cut a chunk so aggressively that I considered wearing a hat for the next six months.
Phase 4: Damage Control
By this point, my bathroom floor looked like a barbershop explosion. Strands of hair clung to every surface—including the cat, who gave me a judgmental stare before fleeing. I attempted to “blend” the layers, which only made things worse. My hair now had more personality than I’d bargained for: rebellious tufts, accidental undercuts, and a fringe that screamed “I did this myself… at midnight.”
The Aftermath
When I finally stepped back, my heart sank. My hair wasn’t “edgy” or “effortlessly cool.” It was a patchy, lopsided disaster. My partner walked in, took one look, and burst out laughing. “It’s… creative?” they offered, which I translated to, “Please never do this again.”
For days, I relied on hats, headbands, and strategic ponytails. Video calls became a nightmare—I angled my camera to showcase only my “good side” (which, honestly, didn’t exist). When a friend asked if I’d been in a fight with a weed whacker, I knew it was time to confess.
Lessons Learned the Hard Way
1. YouTube tutorials lie (kind of). What looks easy in a 10-minute video often requires years of practice. Pro hairdressers make it seem simple because they’re, you know, pros.
2. Kitchen scissors ≠ barber tools. Those blunt, cookie-dough-stained shears? They’re for herbs, not hair. Invest in proper tools if you’re serious—or better yet, don’t be serious.
3. The back of your head is a mystery. No amount of mirror gymnastics will grant you the spatial awareness needed to tackle it solo. Enlist a trusted helper—or embrace the chaos.
4. Hair grows back… but slowly. My “experiment” bought me weeks of awkward grow-out phases. If you’re impulsive, remember: scissors are permanent; regret is temporary (but lasts a while).
Should You Try It?
If you’re curious, go for it—but set realistic expectations. Start with tiny trims, avoid drastic changes, and maybe practice on a wig first. Or channel your inner rebel and own the messy, DIY vibe. After all, bad haircuts make great stories.
As for me? I’ve made peace with my brief career as a self-appointed barber. My hair eventually recovered, and I gained a newfound respect for salon professionals. These days, I stick to what I know: cooking with kitchen scissors and leaving the haircuts to people who own actual thinning shears.
So, the next time you’re tempted to play hairstylist, ask yourself: Is today the day I become a cautionary tale? If the answer’s yes, at least take a “before” photo. You’ll thank me later.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » The Time I Became My Own Barber (Spoiler: It Didn’t Go Well)