Since the beginning of this year, I’ve been cutting my own hair.
It wasn’t to save money. It wasn’t about looks. It was about learning a new skill.
Not to become the world’s greatest self-stylist — far from it — but to get just good enough to get by.
The skills I’ve picked up along the way? They have nothing to do with grooming — and everything to do with grit.
First… context.
Since the pandemic (2020), I’ve had no hair.
Before that, I went to a local(ish) budget haircut place. My hair wasn’t long or short or stylish. It was just… there.
Then lockdown happened. My hair got unruly. One day, I shaved it all off — and kept it that way. Low maintenance. Clean. Easy. That’s how people came to know me.
If you met me after 2021 — especially through Webflow — chances are, you’ve only ever seen me bald.
So, in December 2024, I started growing my hair out again. I was preparing.
It was a self-experiment. And I didn’t wing it. I researched — on and off — for months. How to cut your own hair. How to fade. What style to aim for.
Eventually, I settled on what I can only describe as the “David Beckham undercut.”
Keep the top long. Cut the sides and back. Easy enough.
(Boy was I wrong.)
Commit.
The first thing I had to practice was commitment.
When cutting hair, you must commit. Once it’s cut, it’s cut. There’s no undo. You keep moving. You work with it or around it. You do your best.
Plan B? If it looks bad, wear a hat for a week.
Plan C? Shave it all off and reset. Not everyone is comfortable with that — thankfully, I was. I was already comfortable with that — it had been my default for four years.
Now, this all sounds reasonable on paper. But it feels very different when you’re standing in front of a mirror, clippers in hand, buzzing next to your scalp, fragments of yourself snowflaking to the floor.
Oh — and I had to take off my glasses. So I was basically doing it blind. (None of the YouTube tutorials mentioned that part.)
You think: I’m going to mess this up. It’s going to look terrible. Why am I doing this? Shouldn’t a professional do this? Why am I doing this? But you keep going. You keep committing. You keep doing your best.
And you realize — this isn’t about mastering technique. It’s about not letting fear get in the way. Because when every move feels like a mistake, you’re more likely to make one.
Patience. Precision. Pace.
Cutting hair forces you to balance three things: Patience. Precision. Pace.
Patience — so you don’t rush. Patience in the prep. Patience with the tools. Patience with yourself.
Precision — even if you can’t see clearly. Even without glasses, you learn by feel. You lock in where the clippers meet your scalp. Time slows. Your focus narrows. You can hear your own breath. Each swipe becomes a quiet negotiation between “This is fine” and “Why am I doing this?” You silence the voices. You move with purpose.
Pace — because you don’t want to be in this for hours. Technically, you could take all the time in the world. But I can’t stand being in a bathroom covered in hair. These days, I’ve got it down to 10 minutes — cut to cleanup (thank goodness for that).
Fast enough to stay steady. Slow enough not to screw it up.
That’s the tension. Quick, but not rushed. Precise, but not obsessive. Patient, but not stalled.
Mess.
Afterwards? Chaos.
It looks like a bomb went off — Except instead of debris, it’s all hair. The mess is unavoidable. And so is the cleanup.
I do this odd tiptoe shuffle into the shower, trying not to spread more hair around (does it help? I have no idea).
While showering, I mentally brace myself. Because when I step out, it’s time to clean.
Wipe. Vacuum. Wipe again. Vacuum again. Repeat until it’s all (finally) over.
As I’m cleaning, I’m reminded that mess is just a natural part of the process. You don’t avoid it. You deal with it. The more you accept that, the less power it holds over you.
(At least... that’s what I tell myself.)
Until next time
I cut my hair yesterday. That’s what inspired this post. And I’ll go through the whole thing again in about a month. Same steps. Same tension. Same tiny internal war.
But that tension? It’s not just about hair.
It’s every product launch. Every prototype. Every messy system migration. Every project that feels like you’re building the plane as it’s flying. This practice — the commitment, the patience, the mess — is the work.
And for now, I’m grateful. Grateful for the reminder to be patient. To move with precision. To trust my pace. A reminder that perfection isn’t the goal. You make decisions. You commit. You do your best — even in the mess. Because you are already in the mess.
That’s what it’s really all about.