As with other romantic comedies aiming too hard for the unconventional — that means you,… As with other romantic comedies aiming too hard for the unconventional — that means you, “Juno” — I thought “(500) Days of Summer” was sort of cute, but mostly sickening: a cupcake with too much icing. So after watching the movie, I pretty much forgot about it until a few weeks ago when I barreled into a hair salon with hair and came out — well, without much. Similarly in “(500) Days of Summer,” the main character only loves two things: her long hair and the fact that when she cuts it, she feels absolutely nothing.

I guess that cold harpy Summer never did anything drastic to her hair because when I looked in the mirror I had to swallow horror. With the plastic cape around my neck, I looked like a newborn baby chick with its feathers sticking up in tufts. Despite what Summer says, when you’re styling yourself after Jamie Lee Curtis — err, I mean, Jean Seberg — you definitely feel a whole range of emotions. These include elation, horror, panic and liberation, in no particular order and sometimes in the span of five minutes’ time.

I didn’t really think about “Going Curtis,” as I’ve taken to calling it. Truth be told, if I had thought too much about it, I would have talked myself out of doing it. Sometimes when I find myself bored on a Tuesday, I go for a bike ride. Sometimes I go bald. There’s no telling.

Living these first few weeks with less hair than Fabio, I’ve realized that a girl without much on her head takes in the world around her in a completely different way. For one thing, there’s nothing to hide behind. I can’t really describe what it’s like to have your face out there all the time, but it’s jarring. Everyone can see your emotions written all over your face when you don’t have a curtain of hair to distract them. It makes you into an emotional caricature until you learn how to control your facial tics of discontent or joy — or, in my case, you become more of what you already were. I’m pretty sure I’m still an open book, easily read.

Even though I’m more visible with short hair, it’s surprising to find who doesn’t recognize me. Minor acquaintances often have no idea who I am — or they do a double take at seeing my handsome yet effeminate twin brother. Being in accidental disguise has high entertainment value. Also, it makes fleet escapes much easier.

In those first few days, should they recognize me, people looked at me a little differently. In turn, I started to feel a little different about myself. For instance, some of my friends mistakenly viewed my impulsive act as “ballsy” or “brave,” making me feel much more ballsy than I actually am. Crotch-stuffing is dangerous: I felt so ballsy that I was basically waiting for the chance to show off my fake package. So when some boy made a comment about me looking like a lesbian, I unleashed a whole package of crazy in a fit of faux-feminist venom. Maybe the hairdresser cut out some brains, too. I mean, to be fair, I do own combat boots.

Delusions of balls aside, getting all my hair cut off made me realize that there is, in fact, a lot of emotion assigned to hair, particularly for women. Sure, I was like Summer. I walked into that hair salon full of swagger, thinking that the chop would make me care less, if anything. But for whatever reason, we do feel something when we get it cut — or when we don’t. That’s why, for many women, long hair is a source of pride. That’s why you hear stories about women chopping off their locks after a breakup. In what’s probably a less frivolous example, many traditional religions either forbid women from cutting their hair or from growing it out or have them hide it under wigs or headscarves in public. It can be a symbol of their love and devotion to faith.

Once I got over myself, I realized that the most wonderful thing about not having much hair is that I only have to wash it about once a week. What’s more, I think this is probably the only time in my life when I’ll be able to show off my face — I mean, in another few years, I’m only going to get uglier. So for any girls reading my column: If you’ve always wanted to cut off all your hair but were afraid to do so, don’t worry. Face your fear. Sure, you’ll miss it sometimes, and you’ll feel awkward. I’m still waiting for someone to accidentally call me “sir.” But going outside of your comfort zone is the only way to have an adventure, especially if you’re bored on a lazy Tuesday.

Write Caitlyn at [email protected].