Quentin Crisp once said, ‘Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are‘. For me, it is- it has always been- hair.
From the day I realised, aged 13, that two and a half week’s pocket money could buy me a bar of Lush Cosmetics organic Henna (available in 5 shades), fucking with my hair became an obsession. From ages 14-19, in photos, I am limbs, who-nose, FRINGE. It was my sight inhibiting, forehead-acne inducing, armour. From home bleaching disasters to lopsided bangs, I’ve done the lot.
I’ve never been able to escape the belief that when I finally find the perfect do, I’ll suddenly know who I am. As Phoebe Waller Bridge recently epitomised, Hair Is Everything. (Anthony)
I know I’m not alone. If you ever see a female over the age of 11 years dye her hair an alarming shade of red, or worse, shave a cross section of her scalp, leave her be. Some serious shit is going down.
2019 has been interesting. Shit has gone down. I am four days into a somewhat impulsive but #NOREGRETS buzz cut. Here are my thoughts so far.
- Your head gets cold.
- People spontaneously burst into renditions of Sinead O’Connors ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’
- Male co-workers subconsciously start including you in the mysterious male handshake business.
- Inevitable lesbianism remarks.
- Total strangers tell you you look like Annie Lennox. (100% a compliment)
- You develop a complex about the size of your ears.
- Each of your work friends tells one of a repertoire of four jokes, and each thinks they are original.
- An elderly relative prays for your soul.
- You join the secret worldwide clan of short haired women. You smile at each other conspiratorially on the tube and some small part of you finds the sense of self you were looking for in the first place.
- Hair ruffles. Without permission. Without warning.
Conclusion so far: It’s not the answer. But it’s something. What?
Dunno, but I’ll keep you posted x