From ponytails to buzzcuts: My hair’s role in self-discovery and sexuality

Somewhere between long curls and a shaved head, I became who I am

Image by: Mikayla Quigley
Eden’s hair marked key moments in her journey with gender and sexuality.

Coming to terms with my sexuality has been a dynamic self-exploration, with my hair as a constant reflection of who I am and how I wish to be seen.

When I was ten, I started to explore my gender identity and masculinity. I began shopping in the boys’ section and tucking my ponytail into my baseball cap. That summer at sleepaway camp, I told everyone to call me Ayden. With everyone around me knowing me the way I chose to present myself, the camp felt like a controlled test environment for my gender identity.

When I returned home to Thornhill, being called my given name, Eden, felt unfamiliar but correct. I let my hair out of my hat, put on leggings, and felt like I was discovering who I was all over again. During that time, my long curly hair reminded me that I’m the girl I was born to be and that Ayden was a phase best left behind. Almost immediately, I was embarrassed and ashamed of my summer as Ayden. For years after, hearing the name or seeing a photo of ten-year-old me in a tie surrounded by my friends in dresses put a pit in my stomach and made me want to cry.

Almost immediately, I was embarrassed and ashamed of my summer as Ayden. For years after, hearing the name or seeing a photo of ten-year-old me in a tie surrounded by my friends in dresses put a pit in my stomach and made me want to cry.

Despite this, I knew there was something different about me now. At eleven years old, I realized that I was lesbian. I was secure in my identity as a girl, but I would still beg my mom to let me get short hair, but she would always tell me that I could cut it when I was older.

Reluctantly, I kept my hair long.

As I started high school, the boy drama seemed fun, and I wanted to be the centre of someone’s gossip, so I thought I could be interested in boys too. I was intent on maintaining my social status, and despite wanting to cut or dye my hair in various fun ways, the fear of being too different would hold me back.

I feigned heterosexuality for most of high school, but in grade 12, I came out as bisexual.

Coming out wasn’t such a big hurdle for me because I’m lucky to have a very supportive family. My mom, a wedding officiant, often came home with stories of the adorable lesbian or gay couple she married, so I knew she would be accepting. My parents and siblings have always made it clear that their love is unconditional, and we’re very close, and since we’re so close, telling them about this part of me felt necessary and simple.

With the support of my family as a foundation, I felt ready to take the next step and share this part of myself with the world.

Telling close friends during first year felt liberating. I grew to love the feeling of being a little different, rather than fear it. Still, I was growing into this feeling and moving to Kingston felt like enough change for one year. Being openly queer also affirmed my identity so I didn’t feel like I had to display it visually as much; I was comfortable with my having long hair.

The summer after my first year of university, I tried to be in a relationship with a man for the first time in months and realized, with newfound clarity, that I’m a lesbian. Without social pressures from high school clouding my judgement, and with queer experiences to compare it to, I could tell that it just wasn’t right for me.

After I found this out about my sexuality, I then started subtly signaling my identity to those around me. It was a new feeling, so drastic haircuts didn’t cross my mind, but I wore bracelets with pride colours and tried to sprinkle my queerness into conversations—I wanted everyone to know because it felt good to be seen for who I was.

At the beginning of second year, I asked my sister to cut my hair short on a whim. She cut a long bob, assuring me she went the shortest she could without making me look like a boy—but I craved shorter hair. The next day, I cut it right to the nape of my neck with slight bangs and some layers.

Appearing androgenous became very appealing. My style shifted to contain more masculine clothing, and I had what I called “boy days” and “whimsical days” of dressing. I loved being able to switch between masculine and feminine, and my new short hair fit with both sides. I fell more in love with it every day and kept cutting it shorter as its novelty wore off. I loved when people could tell I was queer just by looking at me, I wanted it to be common knowledge that went without saying.

The following year, I felt confident in who I was, my friends and family were immensely supportive, and I even got into my first serious relationship with a woman. My sexuality was no longer an elusive concept that lurked beneath my decisions, but a primary part of me which rooted itself deeper every day.

I was finally able to talk about Ayden without cringing and came to see that time in my life as integral to who I am, rather than an embarrassing blip. It was this self-assuredness, confidence, and support system that empowered me to shave my head at the end of my third year. One Saturday, I had nothing to do and was having a bad hair day, so I decided it was time. My roommates and I took turns shaving off chunks and laughing about how crazy it looked when they left me with a rattail. I was left nearly bald and smiling from ear to ear. The lightheartedness that informed my decision to buzz my hair showed me how comfortable I’d become in looking different and expressing my masculine side.

Now, during Pride Month 2025, my hair gives all my outfits the androgynous spin I want. I’ve been mistaken for a man several times, but it just makes me smile. I think of Ayden’s hair tucked up in a baseball cap, and I feel proud of where I am today and for my comfort in my identity.

I’m cisgender. I’m a lesbian. I’m in touch with my masculine side—some days more than others. Through every step, my hair mirrored my feelings and how I wanted to be seen by people, reinforcing how good it feels to be myself.

My hair tells my story—each style reflected a new chapter in understanding and accepting myself.

Tags

hair, Pride 2025, Sexuality

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