As the razor buzzed, I entered that zone of intense adrenaline that can only be accessed by departing my comfort zone. The recollection of these vulnerable moments are comparable to the memory of receiving my tattoo.

For a while I had known that 2020 was the year to shave my head. I had expressed this idea out loud, but only to a few friends and fellow female travelers who had notably short cuts.

I didn’t want to be all talk and no action.

This post focuses on the experience and immediate sensations of letting go of the thick, long, black hair I had always identified with.

My intentions and logic behind this depilating decision are detailed in a separate post, 10 Reasons To Go Bald This Summer.

Bald And Balder

I’ve spent all of this year in India, where the end of March kicks off summertime. Come April, and daytime temperatures are breaking past 40°C (104°F) with a muggy warmth that clings to you well into the wee hours.

India’s COVID-19 lockdown leaves me with no plan and no way to make a plan. My world trip is on full pause.

Mix the stifling weather with my harsh lockdown circumstances, and the opportunity to act now became too obvious to ignore.

I picked April 11th. This is the approximate day my pet rabbit, the love of my life, passed away 13 years ago.

As the fateful day approached, I grew increasingly frustrated with the task of washing and drying out my hair, only to tie it up for yoga and for surviving yet another sweltering day stuck indoors.

I took advantage of my final hairy days by doing my hair in styles I hadn’t worn in years. Styles I loved from my childhood…

…to my teens…

…to new trends I never really got around to.

The shaving was done during a 40 hour fast. I fast every April 11th for at least 24 hours, to raise awareness and presence as I hold space for Fluffy, and for those in the world who go to bed hungry night after night.

Part I: Bald

To see my scalp for the first time was…more than a lot.

Too much to take in.

By my side, and doing most of the dirty work, was my friend Rabie. He was another hostel guest on lockdown with me. Rabie clearly understood and honored my wish to go bald from the first time I voiced it to him.

With zero experience, a pair of blunt scissors (ow), and a couple clippers from the hostel boys, we started with removing one side.

The result felt, and acted like, velcro. The black stubble gave it a greenish tinge.

Doubt came, I questioned what I just did with my life, then doubt passed.

In the afternoon Rabie and I shaved the rest of my head.

I would forget what happened, tending to my business as usual, until I walked past a mirror.

“How weird.”

It’s crazy how much of my face, and how much of me, was hiding behind and beneath my hair. Short or long, any amount of hair still hid my bare head and stole attention from my face.

I felt that my physical attractiveness had taken a nosedive.

I felt my sense of identity do a somersault.

I felt humility.

For weeks it still took a moment to process my reflection in the mirror. That moment got shorter with each passing day.

Sometimes I feel like a different person because this new side to me has been exposed.

A hairless yet feminine me, who lives life just a trifling crazier. A me who sometimes feels like ecstatic dancing with a fresh home-manicure and hoop earrings, and other days feels like watching the Indian sunset on the rooftop while reading Sapiens in a bikini.

It’s as if shaving off my hair was an act of giving myself permission to express myself more boldly, to do my thing with less hesitation and self-consciousness than before.

To sum it up in five words, hairless Vivian gives less fucks.

Because, you know, I’m now That Bald Girl.

Part II: Balder

Once I was thoroughly hairless, I figured I might as well savor my shiny scalp with a few more clean shaves before my hair really started growing itself out.

One month later, Rabie and I re-shaved my head.

Round two was a breeze, as expected. Easy to buzz. Easy to clean.

We were all used to my bald look, so comments that used to be “What did you do” became “Right, you did it again.”

Passing by mirrors was unspectacular.

Then the boys with their own histories of baldism saw me. They assured me that I looked great, but that I wasn’t actually bald.

Excuse me?

Turns out I had spent the last month fooling myself about my hair being at zero. The boys explained that when they go bald, the barber buzzes, then cleans the whole scalp with a razor blade.

Okaaay…

Then clean me too.

The next day Arun and I went to work. Well, he did, while I sat there. We didn’t have a proper cream, and using Weleda’s Skin Food was a sticky disaster.

Under the hot sun I felt stinging sensations, and asked if I was bleeding. I was told yes, perhaps a little, but that was to be expected because my scalp had never been exposed before.

What a good trust exercise.

Of course I was highly displeased with the micro cuts that I had received zero warning about. My friends explained that they weren’t professionals, it’s lockdown after all, and my razor was brand new. By the end of the cleaning we managed to bum a quality scalp cream off of a fourth hostel boy. Feelings of sadness and being rather violated quickly faded. 

My attention had moved on to how pudgy and fleshy the top of my head felt.

It was gross, but it was me. Meaty me. Sticky me.

If you want to feel the power of just how fast your hair can grow, clean your scalp with a razor until you reach shiny dumpling mode. The next morning, the stubble will be impressive.

Today another couple weeks have flown by. I quite like hairless/ less-hair Vivian.

Compared to the first shave, I feel like my hair is growing back faster this time, and extremely evenly. My head is so satisfying to rub.

Between my most recent shave and now, I’ve also miraculously reached an ashram. The modesty and convenience of my hairstyle could not be more fitting.

Floral artwork, flower crown, and most photos by @i_am_rabie_.