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After leaving school, I travelled around Europe for about six months. In Denmark, I thought that was my chance to get an amazing haircut, so I went to what I thought was a great hairdresser. It turned out to be the car wash of hairdressers, and I walked out sporting yet another pudding bowl, but this time with a stripe bleached down the centre.

I was getting a little bored with my hair. It's kind of a symbolic thing, just getting rid of the past, moving forward. It's amazing what a reaction you get when you cut your hair.

I think I started realizing I was losing my hair when I was in Illinois. And it was traumatic. It was not something I had figured on in my life.

When I was a teenager, I was really into hair; I dyed it different colours and had loads of haircuts. I shaved my head when I was 17 - it was pretty radical!

Growing up, I had a terrible pudding-bowl haircut. I used to cut it myself, and I'd sew my own clothing, too. I looked a little strange compared to the other kids. But the thing was, I felt I looked amazing, so what other people thought never bothered me.

Whether or not cutting my hair was the right decision, it empowered me.

If I wasn't making a movie, I was trying to master a new musical instrument or trying to teach myself how to shave with a straight razor. I had to find the weirdest things just to increase my understanding of other cultures or other arts or intellectual pursuits.

At a young age, I wanted to be a prima ballerina and had these grand ideas that I would go study at Juilliard. It's something I laugh about now.

I knew I wanted to be an artist early on, but I decided to seriously pursue the profession when I auditioned for Juilliard.

I decided to grow my hair out during college, and it's kind of stuck ever since. Even when I thought about cutting it or trimming it, common sense kicks in, and I don't think the fans would recognize me; people wouldn't know who I am. It would almost be like Santa Claus losing his powers.