The very first time I buzzed my head, I was 21 - I'd had short

“The very first time I buzzed my head, I was 21—I’d had short hair since I was 14—I just remember it was, like, 2 in the morning, and I just was like, ‘I really want to do it. I want to see what I look like and what my head shape is.’” Thus spoke Asia Kate Dillon, actor and pioneer, whose words speak not only of hair, but of courage, curiosity, and the eternal human quest for self-knowledge. What seems a small act—a haircut in the quiet hours of the night—is in truth a declaration of freedom, the kind of freedom that comes when one dares to strip away masks, to confront oneself as one truly is, and to ask: Who am I beneath the coverings the world has given me?

The origin of this moment lies in Dillon’s journey of self-expression and identity. As a non-binary actor, they have lived a life marked by courage, facing the rigid expectations of gender and appearance. The decision to buzz their head at twenty-one was not mere fashion—it was an act of exploration, a rebellion against external definitions, a step toward self-acceptance. To look upon one’s bare head, to discover the true shape of it, is to confront the self without disguise. In their words, we hear the ancient longing to be free of illusion and to see truth, however startling or strange it may be.

The ancients themselves knew this power of transformation through appearance. In the temples of old, priests and priestesses shaved their heads as a sign of purity, a stripping away of vanity and distraction. In India, renunciants cast away hair as a symbol of detachment from the illusions of the world. Even in Rome, the soldier’s cropped head declared readiness for battle. In every age, the act of cutting the hair has stood as a ritual of change, a mark of new identity, a visible declaration that the person has chosen to live differently. Dillon’s midnight buzzing carries this same ancient weight—it is the ritual of self-becoming.

History offers a striking parallel in the story of Joan of Arc. When she cut her hair and donned the armor of a soldier, she cast aside the trappings of her expected role as a village girl and stepped into a destiny that would shake nations. The cutting of her hair was not vanity but power—the visible sign that she belonged not to custom but to her own calling. So too with Dillon: in the buzzing of their head lies not mere style, but strength—the strength to live outside the mold, to define oneself not by others’ gaze but by one’s own vision.

From this we learn that freedom begins with self-honesty. To dare to act on that midnight impulse—“I want to see what I look like”—is to honor the inner voice that longs for authenticity. Many silence that voice, fearing judgment or ridicule. But those who listen and act discover a deeper kind of beauty, one that flows not from conformity but from courage. Dillon’s act reminds us that to strip away the coverings of fear is to stand closer to truth.

Practical wisdom follows: listen to the small impulses of your soul, especially in the quiet hours when the world sleeps. If you feel the pull to change, to shed, to transform, do not always wait for permission. Whether it is the buzzing of a head, the writing of a first word, or the speaking of a long-silent truth, honor the call to see who you truly are. Begin with small acts of bravery, for these open the door to greater ones.

Thus, remember the words of Asia Kate Dillon: “I want to see what I look like and what my head shape is.” Beneath the humor and humility lies a sacred truth: that each of us longs to know the form of our own being, unmasked and unbound. To act upon that longing is not vanity but liberation. For the soul that dares to see itself as it truly is will walk with greater strength, greater honesty, and greater freedom through the world.