Updated: March 23, 2021
Originally Published: July 22, 2015
As a mother of two energetic boys, I’ve come to terms with certain expectations regarding their appearance. Their wardrobe typically consists of numerous Minecraft T-shirts, superhero-themed underwear, and socks adorned with skulls, all at their insistence.
In the past, I delighted in dressing my eldest in collared shirts and plaid shorts, enjoying the polished look of a young prepster. However, as he’s matured, his clothing choices have increasingly leaned toward amusing cartoon characters and video games rated “E” for everyone, a trend his adoring younger brother has eagerly adopted as well. I’ve subsequently stepped down from my role as the fashion director of their lives—or perhaps I simply became complacent, as my leisurely visits to the newborn section of Babies”R”Us filled with adorable tiny overalls have transitioned into hurried runs to Target for essentials, often grabbing pajamas along with the milk.
Yet, one area where I remain resolute is their haircuts. Ever since my eldest son could sit patiently enough to don a barber’s cape, I have cherished our trips to the barbershop. I am enamored with the barber chairs, the comforting hum of clippers, and the vintage pictures of standard haircuts lining the walls, as easy to choose from as items on a fast-food menu: “I’ll take a No. 4 on top with a No. 2 on the sides.” I enjoy observing the line of boys and young men awaiting their turns, creating a scene reminiscent of a bygone era.
Perhaps my fondness for barbershops stems from my own upbringing as the eldest of four girls, subjected to homemade bowl cuts while perched on a wooden stool in our kitchen. I never had a reason to frequent barbershops, and whenever I passed one, I would glance through the glass, pondering. Barbershops were for boys—those who didn’t fret about their appearance, who could sport short hair without fear of judgment, and who dressed for comfort, spoke plainly, and acted simply.
In my youth, there was a perceived freedom associated with being a boy, a feeling that only intensified as I grew older and faced the usual tribulations associated with femininity: my first period, training bras, home perms, and bright blue eyeshadow. As the pressure to conform to societal expectations mounted, I often fantasized about waking up as a boy—grabbing the freshest T-shirt, running a comb through my hair (or not), and stepping out of the house feeling like Ferris Bueller or Marty McFly, confident that my worth was measured by my coolness, not my looks. If I couldn’t live that dream, I would experience it through my sons.
While I recognize that my boys will eventually want more control over their hairstyles, I believed I had a few more years of influence, considering their current ages and their lack of concern regarding the intricacies of hair maintenance. This conviction guided me when I took my five-year-old son to the barbershop just a few days ago. Noticing that his hair had grown unusually fast, likely due to the summer heat, I decided to request a slightly shorter cut—less maintenance and cooler for hot weather.
“Sure,” replied the barber, draping a cape around my son, who was visibly pouting. “I’ll use a No. 1 on the sides instead of a No. 2. That should last him until school starts.”
Just ten minutes later, after she brushed away the stray hairs from his shoulders and spun him toward the mirror, I was met with a heart-wrenching expression on my son’s face.
“Too short!” he wailed, his arms crossing over his head. The barber frowned while I offered an apologetic smile, reassuring her that it was indeed what I had requested. While it was short, it wasn’t excessively so, but the abrupt transition from a longer cut may have been jarring.
“You look fantastic!” I encouraged. “Very handsome!”
He glared at me, hands still covering his head as we walked toward the car. “Too short, too short, too short…” he chanted, climbing into the backseat. “I look bald.”
Rolling my eyes, I glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. “Come on, it’s just a haircut,” I replied, slightly annoyed.
Over the next few hours, I tried various approaches to console my son about his new haircut, with diminishing success.
“You look older now,” I insisted. “You’re almost 7!”
“I look old and bald,” he shot back.
“Lots of boys get their hair cut this short for summer,” I reasoned.
“No one I know,” he firmly protested.
“Your dad has really short hair,” I attempted. “You look just like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Look, I’m sorry I had the barber cut it this short,” I finally conceded. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t like it. I won’t have it cut this short again, OK? But let’s just move on— it will grow back, and in two weeks, it will look like it did before.”
“I want to wear a hat to camp,” he insisted.
As much as I wanted to point out that my five-year-old wasn’t being entirely reasonable, I refrained from finishing that thought. His main concern appeared to be that everyone at camp would mock him for being “bald,” and I struggled to ease his anxiety over what seemed like an outdated fear. Though I recognized that his age limited his ability to rationalize the absurdity of his worries, I found it challenging to understand how a simple haircut could evoke such distress.
Forty-eight hours later, he was still refusing to leave the house without a baseball cap pulled low over his ears. “Did he wear his hat in the pool?” I inquired of the camp counselor as I signed him out the next day.
“No,” she smiled. “But he kept his arms over his head most of the time.”
While my son’s reaction seemed overly dramatic, I could empathize. How many first days of school had I endured, fretting over whether my new polos and corduroys would be deemed acceptable? How many times had I attempted to express my individuality (such as wearing a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker cap for several months in seventh grade) only to feel the burn of embarrassment from whispers behind my back? I craved to stand out yet couldn’t bear the attention it brought along. My son, who freely shares his vibrant and creative spirit at home, clearly worries about fitting in beyond our front porch, reflecting my own childhood anxieties.
Ultimately, I realized my assumptions about the carefree nature of boys were both naïve and gendered, and dismissing my son’s feelings about his appearance was unjust. My son has shown a clear interest in how he presents himself, and within certain boundaries, I am willing to support that—while still drawing the line at ponytails or mullets.
In summary, navigating the complexities of children’s hairstyles can evoke strong emotions in both parents and children. While it may seem trivial, haircuts can symbolize much more, reflecting deeper concerns about identity and acceptance. It is important for parents to recognize and validate their children’s feelings about their appearance, fostering an environment where self-expression is encouraged, yet guided within reasonable limits. For further insights into parenting and home insemination, consider exploring resources like WomensHealth.gov, or discover how to enhance your journey with products available at Make a Mom and Make a Mom Cryobaby Kit.
Keyphrase: children’s haircuts
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