It has been a month of short haircuts at my house. My husband gave our 18-month-old daughter her first haircut–chopping the ape drape off the back to turn her mullet into a long pixie. I said he could cut her hair himself only if he would then cut his hair (it had reached the length where he looks like a dead ringer for his mother, especially in the dark, and that’s not sexy). Then it was my turn. I hadn’t gotten a true, premeditated haircut in more than two years–since before I got pregnant. I had been mulling short hair since last Spring, but spent months and months reckoning with my impulse–did I want short hair because it was in fashion, or did I want short hair because I had a kid and couldn’t be bothered? What if I wanted short hair like Carmen Kass, but ended up looking like Mama Cass? Finally, I made my appointment with Juan Carlos Maciques at the Rita Hazan Salon in NYC. I told him my greatest fear was that I would end up with Mom Hair. And he made the compelling point that Mom Hair (unlike mom bush) isn’t so much about the actual follicles as it is the rest of your look: brow grooming, eye liner, clothes. Put Gwyneth Paltrow in an oversized “Property of Walt Disney World, 1971” and a fanny pack made of patchwork leather, and even she would have mom hair.