As a mother of two energetic boys, I’ve come to accept a few ground rules when it comes to their style, which, thanks to their choices, often features an abundance of Minecraft tees, Skylanders briefs, and socks emblazoned with skulls. Once upon a time, I relished dressing my eldest in collared shirts and plaid shorts, delighting in the appearance of a little prepster. But as he matured, his clothing preferences shifted toward an array of humor-infused cartoon characters and universally rated video games—an influence that his eager younger brother soon adopted. Therefore, I’ve stepped down from my role as the fashion overseer. Or perhaps I’ve simply grown complacent; my once leisurely strolls through the Babies”R”Us newborn aisle, marveling at adorable tiny overalls, have been replaced by frantic Target trips for milk accompanied by a hasty pajama purchase.
However, one aspect of my sons’ appearances that I’ve stubbornly held onto is their haircuts. From the moment my eldest could sit still long enough to don a nylon cape, I embraced the ritual of taking them both to the barbershop. I adore the vintage barber chairs, the hum of clippers, and the timeworn images of classic men’s hairstyles on the walls, as straightforward to choose from as fast food menu items: “I’ll take a No. 4 on top with a No. 2 on the sides.” Watching boys and young men patiently awaiting their turn in the chairs creates a scene reminiscent of a bygone era.
Perhaps I find joy in this experience because it contrasts sharply with my own upbringing. As the oldest of four girls who endured homemade bowl cuts on a wooden stool in our kitchen, barbershops were foreign territory. Peering through the glass doors, I always thought of them as spaces meant for boys—those who could get their hair cut short without facing scrutiny. Boys who donned comfortable clothing, spoke plainly, and found ease in their choices.
As I faced the trials of adolescence—my first period, a training bra, home perms, and blue eye shadow—the allure of boyhood freedom grew ever stronger. I often wished to wake up as a boy, ready to toss on the nearest T-shirt without a care in the world, channeling Ferris Bueller or Marty McFly, where the focus was on being cool rather than pretty. If I couldn’t live that dream myself, I’d gladly experience it through my sons.
While I know there will come a time when my boys will assert their own preferences regarding their hair, for now, their ages and general disinterest in hair care allowed me to steer the ship. I felt confident in this decision as I took my 5-year-old son to the barbershop a few days ago. His hair seemed to have grown at an alarming rate, likely due to the summer season and our evolving haircut requests. I’d noticed his tolerance for haircuts dwindling, requiring increasing levels of bribery. So, I thought a shorter cut would be practical—less maintenance and cooler for the hot weather.
“Sure,” the barber said, securing a cape around my son, who was pouting. “I’ll use a No. 1 on the sides instead of a No. 2. That should last him until school starts.”
Ten minutes later, with the chair turned to face the mirror, I saw my son’s devastated expression. “Too short!” he howled, crossing his arms over his head. While I smiled apologetically at the barber, I assured her it was exactly what I had requested. Yes, it was short, but not alarmingly so. However, the sudden shift from a longer hairstyle to such a trim was undoubtedly jarring.
“You look fantastic!” I encouraged him. “So handsome!”
His sulky demeanor remained as we made our way to the car. “Too short, too short, too short…” he chanted as he climbed into the backseat, “I look bald.”
Rolling my eyes, I glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. “Come on, dude, it’s just a haircut.”
Over the next few hours, I tried various tactics to ease his distress over the new length, each one falling flatter than the last. “You look older!” I said. “Almost like a seven-year-old.”
“I look old and bald,” he shot back.
“Lots of little boys get their hair cut this short for summer,” I offered.
“No one I know,” he retorted firmly.
“Your dad has a really short haircut,” I suggested. “You look just like him.”
“No, I don’t.”
Finally, I apologized, explaining that I hadn’t realized he wouldn’t like the length and promised not to cut it that short again. “But let’s move on; it will grow back in no time.”
“I want to wear a hat to camp,” he insisted.
As much as I wanted to explain to my 5-year-old that he was being unreasonable, I knew that wouldn’t be productive. His primary worry seemed to be that everyone at camp—both adults and kids—would tease him for being “bald,” and I struggled to talk him down from this ledge of outdated fears. Though he was too young to articulate the absurdity of his anxiety, I found it hard to grasp how a simple boys’ haircut could trigger such distress.
Forty-eight hours later, he still refused to leave the house without a baseball cap pulled low over his ears, and I marveled at his determination.
“Did he wear his hat in the pool?” I asked the camp counselor as I signed him out the following day.
“No,” she replied with a smile. “But he kept his arms over his head most of the time.”
As dramatic as my son’s reaction seemed, I recognized a familiar feeling. How many first days of school had I spent fretting over whether my new polos and corduroys would be accepted? How many attempts did I make to express my individuality—like that phase in seventh grade when I wore a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker cap—only to feel the sting of snickers behind me? I wanted to stand out, yet I dreaded the attention it brought. My son, who passionately showcases his creativity at home but worries about fitting in outside, clearly shares my sentiments.
Eventually, it struck me that my assumptions about the carefree nature of little boys had been naive and perhaps unfair. My attempts to downplay my son’s concerns about his appearance were unjust. At his age, he demonstrated a genuine interest in how he presents himself, and within reason, I’m willing to support that—though I draw the line at ponytails and mullets.
In conclusion, navigating the world of haircuts with my sons has revealed much about gender expectations and the importance of empathy in understanding their feelings.
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Keyphrase: Haircuts and Childhood
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