People love a makeover story. Witness Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Or Reese Witherspoon’s bombshell reveal post Ryan Phillippe. Not to mention those incessant reruns of What Not to Wear. Part of the appeal, of course, comes from a covetable new wardrobe – a new collection of designer labels does a body good. But I think that’s only half the story. The other half comes from an attitude adjustment, one that can only be arrived at when you start with your head.

I knew I needed a change in my life. After five years of working as an editor at Canada’s top fashion and beauty magazine, I decided to leave for another opportunity. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that what I thought was a brilliant career move was a major bust; like so many things in life, it was not what I thought it would be. And while I wasn’t necessarily in crisis mode, I would say that my headspace needed some new navigation point.

Which brings me to the Alcorn and one tress master Tony Masciangelo. Sure, I could have had an extra sesh on the sofa with a shrink, but, being the fashion girl that I am, it made way more sense to try a makeover. In some ways, Tony brought me full circle: He is someone whom I met and befriended a decade ago when I was just starting out as a junior editor. He knew my style, my tastes, and more critically, knew my personal evolution.

And so it was that with a hopeful heart and celebrity pic in hand, I came to sit down in his trusty station. My star reference, by the way, was Flare’s November cover girl, Kirsten Dunst. I had always admired her effortless cool but was now smitten with her freshly shorn shoulder-length cut with bangs. That the makeover was part of her career comeback made it even more perfect.

One wash, six inches and a few spritzes of hair spray later (not to mention the copious amounts of laughter and conversation), Tony revealed the new me. It wasn’t exactly the extreme makeover route – I did, after all, come in with bangs and a long length – but it was a mah-jor new look for me. And with all due modesty, I look good.

My makeover was met with a variety of reactions, most of them very positive. Some people — most notably my mother — preferred the longer length; others didn’t see the difference. But my own feelings were a bit more complicated. I had lost several inches, sure, but instead of feeling a loss, I finally understood the liberating effect of cutting it off. The thick clumps of hair that Tony took off were dead weight and I felt like I had finally come out of hiding.

And in turn discovered the kindest cut.

Aya McMillan is a freelance style writer and editor in Toronto.