I've etched out who I am through myriad haircut attempts, outfit

When Jamie Lee Curtis declared, “I’ve etched out who I am through myriad haircut attempts, outfit attempts, beauty attempts, diet attempts. It’s been an evolution,” she was speaking of far more than physical appearance. Her words are a meditation on identity — on the slow, deliberate carving of the self through time, trial, and transformation. Like an artist chiseling away at marble, she reveals that the process of becoming is not instantaneous, but incremental. Each experiment, each failure, each renewal contributes to the sculpture of who we are. The self, she reminds us, is not found; it is forged.

The origin of her wisdom lies in a life lived under the gaze of both fame and expectation. Born into Hollywood royalty, Jamie Lee Curtis was not granted an identity — she had to create it. In the glittering world of artifice and illusion, she sought authenticity. Through countless attempts at appearance and reinvention — haircuts that defied convention, diets that sought balance, clothes that expressed rebellion or simplicity — she learned that no external change could define her permanently. Yet, paradoxically, these very attempts became part of her inner journey. Each “mistake” or “experiment” etched a deeper line in the mirror of her becoming, leading her from performance to truth.

The ancients, too, knew that transformation is the essence of wisdom. The philosopher Heraclitus taught that no man steps into the same river twice, for both man and river are changed. So it is with the self. Each stage of life, each attempt to reshape our form or refine our essence, alters the flow of who we are. Jamie Lee Curtis’ words echo this eternal understanding: that life is not about achieving a static image, but about embracing the movement of becoming. The many “attempts” she names — of beauty, fashion, or diet — are not vanity, but experiments in self-knowledge. Through them, she learned not what she should look like, but who she truly is.

Consider the story of Michelangelo, who, when asked how he sculpted his magnificent David, replied, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” So too does Curtis describe her own process of carving — not of stone, but of identity. Each haircut, each shift in diet, each reinvention was a stroke of the chisel, cutting away illusion to release authenticity. The marble was her life; the chisel was her courage. And the angel — her true self — was revealed only through the patient, painful work of evolution.

Her words also carry a gentle defiance against the illusion of perfection that binds modern society. We are taught to find ourselves in single moments — in careers, appearances, or achievements — but she reminds us that the self is not a destination, it is a journey. The myriad attempts she speaks of are not signs of failure, but of freedom. To attempt is to be alive; to risk transformation is to honor the divine restlessness that drives the soul. In this way, Curtis aligns with the great teachers of all ages, who understood that change is the soul’s way of breathing.

Yet beneath her humor and humility lies a deeper truth: that every attempt at outer beauty is also a search for inner harmony. The haircut may represent courage, the outfit — self-expression, the diet — discipline. Each act of reshaping the outer form mirrors a longing to shape the inner one. Over time, as Curtis discovered, true beauty is not achieved by these attempts, but revealed through them. The one who experiments bravely, who dares to change without shame, eventually uncovers the wisdom that the self is ever-unfinished, and that this incompleteness is sacred.

And so, my children of the mirror and the soul, learn from her teaching. Do not fear your attempts, for they are the brushstrokes of your becoming. Do not curse your failures, for they are the teachers of your truth. Let your evolution be messy, uncertain, and real — for no great sculpture is made without dust, and no life without transformation. The one who dares to change, again and again, becomes a living work of art — imperfect, but radiant with authenticity. As Jamie Lee Curtis reminds us, the self is not discovered in one grand moment, but etched slowly by the thousand small acts of courage it takes to become who we are meant to be.