You Assholes Made Me Cut My Hair

I walked out of my hotel today very excited to be wearing my new outfit, even if the vest is a little tight around the waist and the dark jeans don’t work as well as slacks. Then I basically had a panic attack about my haircut and was almost certain I was going to puke all over the side of the building in which Robert Lewis Stevenson had written his autobiography. So I hit Google Maps on my phone, found a barber, and got it hacked down. It’s shorter than I would like but he worked with what he had.

What caused me to fold was the fact that, like many of you have pointed out, I did feel like I was trying too hard. Especially with the suit. It’s one thing to have that sort of haircut when you’re bopping around Brooklyn in jeans and leather, but when trying to really step up and wear something a bit risky, I felt like the hair was distracting; It gave people something to latch onto that wasn’t what I wanted to emphasize.

Or I am totally over-thinking it. Thanks for making insecure, jerks!

Anyway, I feel a lot better now. I can hang out in the office in my too-tight vest and shirt and feel at worst overdressed—not overdressed with a questionable haircut.

But the beard is staying because it is awesome and anyone who doesn’t like it can get bent.