Hair today, gone tomorrow.

     Hello, lovelies.

        Hair has always played a major role in our lives. Some can grow long, luscious hair, whilst for others it’s thin and lifeless. Men have spent centuries trying to find a cure for male pattern baldness, making hair transplants a common occurrence today. Is it our vanity that makes us value our hair? Is it really that important? What happens if we were to lose it? Does that make us instantly unattractive and ugly? Are we a failure if we try to rock the bald look? Or is it all a ruse by the beauty industry telling us that the better the hair, the better our lives will be? And how would it make us feel if we had hair today, but it was gone tomorrow? 

         All my life I have tried to grow my hair as long as possible. From about the age of sixteen, I bleached my hair to a Marilyn Monroe platinum blonde. I looked great, but my hair didn’t think so. It began to grow dry and was prone to breaking. I loved the look, but by the age of thirty, I knew that I needed to take better care of my waist length hair and returned to my natural light brown. Well, I say that. By the time I stopped bleaching it, my actual hair colour was grey. Not silver. No, boring grey. I was horrified. How could I be grey at thirty? My solution was to colour it every two weeks, just to maintain the appearance of youth. And I have been dying my hair ever since. But with my recent cancer diagnosis, and at the third cycle of chemo, my once long beautiful hair is no more. I’m down to about 30% hair left on my head, and its falling out fast. For so long I have placed value on myself because of my hair, to suddenly not have it was more than difficult. Would I ever be the same? It had taken me nearly six years to grow, and only six weeks to lose it. 

          Hair has always been linked to youthfulness and beauty in women and virility and masculinity in men. No wonder we spend a fortune on hair products each and every year. It’s no surprise that thinning hair and loss can make people feel self-conscious and lead them to drastic measures. Hair is seen as an indicator of both social and professional status. Hair and religion have a long history together. Christian priests and monks once shaved the crowns of their head to symbolise a lack of vanity and their vow of chastity. In the bible, Samson took his strength to destroy the Philistines from his long, flowing hair. When Delilah cut it, he lost his strength. In Ancient Egypt, the Pharaoh always wore a wig to denote his status, even today wigs play a role in our lives. 

        Today, long hair is a symbol of youth and beauty, and the fashion for hair extensions has taken the world by storm, with many people sporting short hair today and long extensions tomorrow. But do we value people because of their hair? No, of course not. Why then, do I feel the need to cover my head and hide my newfound baldness? And as so many people are going through hair loss, should I really be feeling sorry for myself? I, at least, have the ability to buy a variety of chemo caps and wigs. I have been told, by more than one person, that my hair will grow back, so why be upset now? But I can’t escape the feelings of loss as my baldness grows. 

         In this past week, I have had two experiences regarding my hair, or should I say, my hat. The first happened when someone I hadn’t seen in a while saw me from a distance and come running over. Staring at me, they asked the most random of questions, stared some more and then walked away. And I’m not sure who was more freaked out by the encounter. Probably them, but it was so odd. They had seen me wear my new chemo cap and assumed that at any moment I was going to keel over and die. Needless to say, I didn’t. But to them my hair loss meant that I was ill or dying. Spoiler, I’m not. 

        And the second happened to me at work. I was covering at a London theatre venue, and a customer came up to me and asked me where I had bought my hat from. She was also sporting a chemo cap, and she wanted one like mine. We had a lovely conversation and shared details of great websites and materials. Her baldness was not due to cancer, but Alopecia. But there was no fear in our mutual questions. And that’s when I saw my baldness not as something I need to be ashamed of and hide away, but rather to talk about it and share my new found knowledge. I loved my hair, and it really hurt me when it fell out, but it will eventually grow back.

         Placing our value on our looks is not just stupid, but dangerous. I am more than my hair. I am still me, chemo cap or no. But it was my children that made me see the true error of my thinking. For the longest time I had tried to hide my illness from them, but this new generation are different. They see the world through a new set of eyes. They really don’t care that I don’t have hair. They couldn’t care less that I wear a hat in and out of doors. They celebrate difference. They no longer conform to the static world view of traditional beauty. For them, beauty comes from within.

       I miss my hair, but I have saved a fortune in buying shampoos and conditioners. And when my hair does grow back, I will no longer dye it. I am planning on growing my hair as long as possible, so I will look a bit like Dumbledore. I can’t wait. And my new motto in life will be, with a face this pretty, I don’t need hair!