Hair is something I don’t want to have to think about. However, it is how others see me—especially that first impression. It forms an opinion; it creates an image of me in other people’s eyes.

Physically, when I sit here and try to feel my hair, I feel like it's more of an extension of my pores. There is this little force pulling at my scalp, something connected. It’s slightly heavy, yet very light.

I think my current hairstyle is part of me, but it doesn’t define my whole identity; it’s just a style I chose and decided to keep. It’s very easy to manage and doesn’t need much grooming. I only trim it every two weeks or so when I feel it’s getting a bit too long. My hair is naturally quite hard. When it’s short, it feels like a hard carpet. When it grows longer, it becomes an annoyingly rough carpet. But if I just razor cut it, it transforms into something delicate, like an animal’s fur.

When I razor cut it, it’s a very personal process. I take off my clothes and get in the shower. As I cut it, the hair falls to the floor. I rub it into a pile and put it in the bin. It’s much easier to manage without the mess. I can’t imagine letting my hard hair fall on my body—cut hair feels prickly, so I can’t razor cut myself while fully dressed.

I started to cut my own hair in uni because I found salons annoying. Hairdressers always ask the same questions: “Where are you from?” “What school do you go to?” Or they try to sell me memberships and products.

I remember one stylist in the compound where I lived who didn’t talk much. I could just watch TV there without it being awkward. But he wasn’t very good and had an aesthetic from 20 years ago. I never liked whatever he cut for me. I had a K-pop style short cut at the time, I believe; that’s an easy, "acceptable" short hairstyle for many salons, so that’s what I got. Later, I asked to change it to a half shave. A half shave is easy to maintain myself—I just cut the sides shorter and trim the front and back a bit.

My earliest memory of my hair is my mom doing my hair. When I was 7 or 8, she loved dressing me up. I loved fancy headbands and little clips, and she would give me a whole head of them. At that time, headbands usually had ornaments on them. I loved those so much. I liked the clinking sounds they made when I moved. I had one or two ponytails at the time.

I never learned how to do my hair myself. I remember a summer camp where I had to do it for the first time, but it looked so ugly that I needed classmates to help me tie it. I was so annoyed. Right after that camp, I cut it short. I never wanted to be braided again.

First it was a K-pop style short cut, then it got shorter and shorter. At the time, my references were Mando-pop stars like Bibi Zhou, Chris Lee, Jay Chou, Yico Zeng. Every time I cut it shorter, my family would ask, "Are you trying to look like Jay Chou again?" Cutting it that short meant there was less chance of me ever growing it long again, and that broke my parents' expectations. They had to comment on it every time. After entering uni, I shaved one side and made it look really cool.

For a while, my hair had become so hard that I couldn't even comb it; it would just curl up. I tried wearing an Alice band, but it restricted my head and gave me headaches.

Around Christmas of 2019, I had a very close friend razor cut it for me. Afterwards, we went to eat Japanese food (laughs). We were both going through a depressed time, staying at each other's houses. I didn't want to do it myself; I wanted to rely on someone I trusted, and we did it almost like a ritual. It was a big change, and I didn't want it to be a casual thing.

There were mainly three reasons I decided to change my hair. First, I always felt the back of my head was flat. My mom said she didn’t intentionally make me sleep flat, but in Chinese culture—I think it was during the Qing Dynasty—flat heads were considered lucky and looked nice with long braids. In primary school, kids would comment on my head shape, saying the sides were bulging. It made me hyper-aware of my own skull. I wanted to see what my head actually looked like without the hair hiding it.

The second reason is that my hair is thick; when it falls out, it’s very obvious on the floor, and I had to clean my room every day.

Finally, around the time I came to the UK to study, I was actively involved in feminism. I realised that my presentation was always being viewed through a specific lens as an Asian woman. I felt that if I removed the gender symbol entirely, no one could judge me. I wanted to leave the evaluation criteria—whether it's long, short, straight or curled—and exit that system of judgment.

After the razor cut, I sent a text to warn my mom before we video-called. She told me later, “Why is your hair so short? Your grandma is crying.” Every time they see me, they tell me not to cut it and to keep it long.

After I went back to China, my mom expressed her love by looking deeply into my eyes, touching my head, and saying, “Grow your hair longer, babe,” as if she were a protagonist in a romance drama.

I remember going to a family dinner where an auntie kept complimenting my hair. She said she had wanted to have a razor cut when she was young and that I suited it so well. My mom and grandma kept reprimanding her, saying a little girl shouldn't act like a boy. Is it so wrong for someone else to compliment your child? I was so mad that evening. My grandma told me later, “Don’t listen to that auntie,” as if she was afraid the encouragement would make me even more rebellious.

Another time, a neighbour in the elevator asked my dad when his kid was coming back, even though I was standing right there. My dad pointed at me and the neighbour said, “I remember you had a daughter?” My dad seemed embarrassed.

Many people my age are proud of me or even envious. They want to have a razor cut too, but they are under too much pressure or are afraid of how they will look.

In our culture, for the older generation, "woman" equals long hair and "man" means short hair. There’s a bias that "longer is better" for girls.

That trickles down to kids, too. If they are taught that way, they get confused when they see a person with short hair—they don't know if they are supposed to call me "brother" or "sister".

Short hair is seen as something for the elderly who can’t maintain their hair quality anymore and short hair is easy to manage. My mom kept hers at medium length and would only tie it up for work or driving. She often went to the salon for treatments.

For the younger generation, a bob is a fashionable cut, but hair short enough to show the ears means you’re a butch lesbian—or 铁T (tiě T) in Chinese. I don’t necessarily want to put myself in a frame or give it a name. People might define me as androgynous because of my hairstyle, but for me, it’s not about going after a certain look; it’s just about being comfortable. My gender identity is a separate matter. I always felt somewhere in between the binaries even before having my hair cut short.