As of today, I have legally been an adult for two years — but it wasn’t until recently that I finally began to feel like an adult.
Despite being a junior in college, working multiple jobs, paying taxes, taking public transportation into the city on my own (gasp), living with my partner, having six credit cards, and a number of other things, I still felt very much as if I was waiting for some anime-esque magical girl transformation into adulthood.
So… when was that defining moment? Was a Descartesian descent into quarantine madness and introspection?
A significant portion of my adolescence was spent binge-watching speed art videos and tutorials. I gushed over Instagram artists, salivating at the idea of trading my hands for theirs — although trading brains would be more logical since creativity has a neurological basis.
Then, it finally dawned on me the other day. There’s an unspoken dichotomy between the hallmarks of a great artist and the skill level of a talented artist.
As silly and as shallow as it may sound, a rockin’ haircut is more than just a confidence booster; it can validate your identity.
We all know what it’s like to emerge from under a sheen salon cape feeling rejuvenated — or completely crushed. The way 100,000 follicles that sprout from our scalp shape our face wields such overwhelming power over our self-esteem.
And yet, it’s just hair. You can shave it all off and it’ll grow back with the utmost amnesty. The beauty of a great haircut is ephemeral, the heartbreak of a botched cut is fleeting.
While reading a research paper on attitudes towards climate change in California during the 2012 to 2016 drought period, I can’t help but find myself struck by how the perception of the media is so conflicting across various communities – and how I, a patron of many different communities, find myself in the unspoken valley that lies at the foot of their rivaling precipices.