Resident Scissorhands Camille Sensiba formally invites you to the Zoom Hair Salon, self-serve.

It was the week before fall break, and I had had enough. Mine is a tale of an unexpectedly magical Zoomcut.

While the rest of the world gave themselves bangs and bleached TikTok stripes during quarantine, I simply sat and waited. Day after day, I watched my hair grow, split-ends be damned! What else had I to do, cooped up inside, other than watch my hair grow by the millimeter? Eventually, it became my sole method of measuring time. If you think that time stopped existing in quarantine, it’s blatantly obvious to me that you went for the COVID chop. I know exactly how much time has passed because my calendar grows out of my sad, lonely head! Well, it used to.

I logged onto my Zoom meeting after going for a little nine-hour drive to clear my head. Most people in my Zoom meeting probably assumed that I was in a fit of madness, or under an influence, or both. But I assure you, dear Reader, I had never felt more lucid than in the moment when I stared directly into my camera and picked up my little green embroidery scissors.

Once I had made the first snip, I was at peace. The soft hush of my scissors, coupled with the ambient white noise of those participating in the Zoom meeting, made for a transcendent experience. Before I knew it, I was watching myself from the tiny self-view box on my computer; of course, I was on grid-view instead of pinning my video, because I am no self-centered wimp.

What did this Zoom-version-of-me see? Not a tired, lost college student lopping off her hair with her video on, no. In this out-of-body Zoom experience, I was a jungle explorer, swinging at branches with a machete to clear my path. I was a tornado, going wherever I pleased and tearing up the world in my wake. I was a python, swallowing any unsympathetic professors whole and watching Courseworks crash and burn. For a few seconds, I swear I was even Columbia’s Office of Financial Aid, bringing students to their knees and still refusing them. I held so much power in my own two hands. I was unstoppable.

And before I knew it, it was done. I stared at Zoom-Camille, and she stared right back at me, with only her blinks lagging behind half a second behind mine. We were one and the same, once again. I leaned uncomfortably close to my camera to assess my work. Not bad. Having exclusively cut my own hair when we were living in the dorms, my Zoomcut was, surprisingly, not the worst haircut I had ever given myself. But it wasn’t really about the hair at all, was it? It was about the Zoom of it all. The Zoom along the way, if you will.

For a fleeting moment, I felt I could live on Zoom forever. The version of myself that Zoom-Camille saw had direction. She was decisive and shameless, borderline tyrannical and yet, so self-assured. With a trash can on my lap and scissors in my hand, Zoom removed me from reality, only to drop me right back into it again. How do I escape the headaches and exhaustion to achieve Zoom-empowerment once more? Dear Reader, I cannot afford to keep chasing this high. I only have so much hair to cut. Soon enough, you shall see me on Zoom, my face an inch away from my computer screen, cutting my own eyelashes, until I am left with nothing.

Until then, goodbye, bleached remnants of my senior year of high school emo phase. Goodbye, nest to hide from my responsibilities. Goodbye, sanity— what are you still doing here, anyway? Goodbye…

What the heck is a Flowbee via Wikimedia Commons