I Grew Out My Hair For Months Before My Wedding. I Regret It.

I always had a love-hate relationship with my hair. Unlike some people who seem to carry every hairstyle with aplomb, I had to make do with the “boy cut” for most of my childhood. There was no other way to control my rough, unruly mop, and my mother had flatly told me that there was no way she would let me grow my hair until I became old enough to take care of it myself. So while girls my age were busy tying ribbons on their perfect braids, I was growing up rough and tumble, with my short and sweet haircut.

Truth be told, I hated it for the most part but as I grew up I learned to appreciate how efficient and low-maintenance it was. As I entered college and made my foray into adulthood, I swapped my “boy cut” for a chicer “lob”. The “lob”, coupled with chunky earrings and loose-fitting kurtas became my signature look (also the fact that my then-boyfriend-now-husband thought it made me look super hot might have helped). My friends and most of the girls in my class sported a luxurious mane, but I never felt out of place with my short hair. Rather, it made me stand out, it became my identifier and I loved that. This really didn’t change even when I finally joined the workforce. Short hair was the way to go for me. In fact, I never felt more like myself than when I would find myself sitting in the hairstylist’s chair, every 3 months, instructing him to go shorter.

The first time I ever doubted this “short and sweet” philosophy was when I decided to tie the knot. I had decided to take my relationship with my then-boyfriend to the next level, however little did I know that this decision of mine would create a ripple effect that would affect even the minutest details of my life. As soon as the word got around, I was bombarded with all sorts of advice on how to handle my wedding planning, from colleagues, friends, and acquaintances. One oft-heard comment among this pile of the well-meaning dump was, “What are you going to do about your hair? You should think about growing it out.” For the first couple of months, I let it slide just like the water of a duck’s back. Yet, as I found myself digging deeper into the band-baaja-baarat world, I realized, much to my horror, that there were no brides sporting hair like mine. They were not there in bridal magazines, they were not there in the catalogs. The brides I saw around me were gorgeous, ethereal creatures sporting the perfect updos, accessorized by exotic flowers.

Finally, I gave in to the mounting pressure and decided to grow out my hair, much to my mother’s secret relief. I wish I could say It was no big deal or that I carried on with my life much like before, unfortunately that was not the case. The wedding was set to take place in the February of next year, and there I was, sweating in humidity of Delhi summers in August, itching to get rid of the messy bun that would scrape against my neck. Now that I had decided to grow out my hair, I also had to maintain it, and this meant spending extra time in the shower, shampooing and conditioning it, protecting it against the frizz, etc. The fact that I had to get up half-an-hour early to reach office on time, courtesy of the new long hair, annoyed me to no end.

The days went by, and I found myself sucked into the world of wedding paraphernalia. Unknowingly, I was relieved at the idea that now I would sport the perfect hairstyle and make sure that everything would go together perfectly. The outfit I had picked out, the jewelry I had decided on, etc. would all be tie together perfectly with the hairstyle. The key word was “perfect”. I had finally given in to the pressure of being the perfect bride. Soon, the day of the wedding arrived, and it was perfect.

There was joy, laughter, and dancing, it was in every way, just as I had imagined it to be. My dream team which was composed of my hairstylist and makeup artist who left no stone unturned in making me a sight to behold. It was all pulled off without a hitch. Nevertheless, as I was standing there on the stage with my perfect husband, a little part of me seemed to tell me that it really didn’t matter how “perfect” I looked, he would have married me anyhow. The whole wedding act was just a performance that we had put on to please the world, in reality, he fell in love with the girl with the “lob”.

If anybody asks me today, what I would change about that day, I would say nothing. The joy I felt that day, taking such an important step in my life, in front of the people I loved is something that cant be explained. But yes, I do wish that I wouldn’t have had to hide the girl with the short hair to do that.

Do you have similar mane-stories from your wedding? Please share them in the comments below.

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