Okay, so I’ll just start with this: I didn’t exactly plan on getting a Viking haircut. Not in a "this was on my bucket list" kind of way. Honestly, it started as a joke. Or maybe more like a dare? My partner had been binge-watching this show — something gritty with axes and fur and too many slow-motion fight scenes — and out of nowhere, she goes, “You’d actually look kinda hot with a Viking haircut.”

I laughed. Obviously. But then she didn’t. She gave me that look. You know, the one that’s half challenge, half curiosity. And suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I’ve always had... not long hair exactly, but long enough to feel attached to. A sort of shaggy, just-woke-up, maybe-I-surf vibe that I’ve stubbornly clung to since college. But lately it started to feel more like a safety net than a style. Like, I wasn’t really doing anything with it anymore, just kind of letting it be there. Taking up space on my head.

So yeah. The Viking idea burrowed its way in.

At first, I did what most people do: a little scrolling. Some Reddit threads, Pinterest boards, a few “before and after” YouTube black holes. There’s this whole aesthetic to it — the shaved sides, the undercuts, the braids if you’re feeling extra. It’s sharp. Confident. A little aggressive, maybe. But also... kinda freeing?

Still, I wasn’t ready. Not totally. I needed a push.

That push came in the form of a really bad week. One of those “nothing catastrophic happened but everything felt off” stretches where you start questioning small things — your wardrobe, your breakfast routine, your entire identity. I booked the appointment on a whim one night. No turning back once you hit “confirm.”

Walking into the salon (a little fancy, not gonna lie), I suddenly felt ridiculous. Like, who did I think I was? Some wannabe Viking warrior with a 9-to-5 and a bad posture problem? But the stylist, Bree, was chill. Very “I’ve seen it all, let’s do this” energy. I told her I wanted something bold. Something sharp. Something a little... transformative?

She nodded like she got it. Then asked, “You wanna go full Viking, or just Viking inspired?”

I blinked. “What’s the difference?”

“Well,” she said, “full Viking means you commit to the sides. Like, clippers-down kind of commitment.”

I hesitated. Then said, “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

I won’t pretend the first buzz of the clippers didn’t jolt me. There’s something weirdly emotional about hearing that sound near your ear and knowing it’s your hair falling to the floor. But then it becomes kind of... addictive? Each pass felt like shedding something. Like I was stepping out of an old version of myself, one tiny hair at a time.

By the end, I barely recognized myself — in a good way. Bree added this tight fade along the sides, left some length on top to pull into a small knot (baby steps), and showed me how to work in some product for texture. It looked fierce. Not in a “look at me” kind of way, but more like... “yeah, I know who I am.”

I walked out feeling lighter. Not just because of the hair, but something deeper. Braver, maybe? Or more intentional — like I made a choice to stop playing it safe.

That night, my partner stared at me for a full five seconds before saying anything. Then she just smiled. “Told you,” she said. “Hot.”

And you know what? For once, I kinda agreed.