Hair today

gone tomorrow

Shall we talk about hair? What a fragile and strong attachment we have to the hair growing on our heads in particular. Annabelle Hirsch has written a book ‘A History of Women in 101 Objects’. On Friday 1st of March Anita Rani interviewed her about it on the BBC R4 programme, Woman’s Hour. It was fascinating, I had opportunity to listen because I was driving. They discussed certain objects in this cabinet of curiosities, a hat pin, a 16th century glass dildo, of course, but what really interested me was the very last object named in the book. There is a picture of a cut off plait and Annabelle discussed with wit and passion the significance of a woman’s hair, especially when it is cut as a form of rebellion.

Listening to them speak of this often used demonstration of resistance to female oppression, it brought many emotions to the surface. It’s hard to quantify the impact of this kind of act, but suffice to say it is always powerful. For centuries a woman’s hair, in cultures worldwide, has been viewed as her crowning glory. A symbol of her femininity and sexuality. The thing that sets her apart from her male counterpart. In certain cultures, it’s seductive power is viewed as something that must be kept under wraps, hidden from the world. Grown long and entirely secreted. With a morality police only too willing to stamp out any sign of individual freedom around this traditionally accepted custom. In 2022 Mahsa Amini lost her life at the hands of such a police force and women all over the globe cut their hair in protest and as a sign of solidarity with women in Iran. Oppressors have often shaved women’s heads as a way to demoralise, dehumanise and reduce spirit. The brutality of this is not lost on us even today. There is a particular cruelty in it. Hair is intimate, it lends softness, protection and framework to the face. To who we are. So much of our identity is tied up in it. Our hair matters to us. Army protocol shaves new recruits - it’s a levelling process and a way to ‘break’ before you remake.

Jo March in Little Women (a favourite book) cuts off her glorious hair and sells it for the war effort to help her father. A sacrifice met with tears by her mama and sisters, mine too. In those days all women wore their hair long and elaborately curled. It was considered outrageous to wear your hair in any other way. Such are the impositions of time and tradition upon us. By and large, we mostly conform, we don’t want to be on the outside edge. Fortunately there have always been those who are exceptions to the rule. The stand out, stand up ones. Jo is my best-loved character, she represented what I hoped to be - strong and a writer….

I can remember cutting off a plait and hiding it behind the cooker when I was very small. I wonder now if I thought mum and dad may not notice my misdemeanour if I hid the evidence…. I have no idea why I embarked on this mischief at such a tender age (infant school). Neither can I remember the repercussions. I do remember holding it in my hand with the elastic still wound round the end and feeling afraid of what I’d done. The separateness of it was fascinating. A part of me severed away and lying across my small palm. I didn’t need to cut the other one. This was enough, it both thrilled and terrified at the same time.

I know in our own household my father loved long hair. My mother’s was thick and hung down her back. At weekends she wrapped it around curlers and sat under our hairdryer to add glamorous shape and lustre to its dark beauty. I, too, had waist length dark brown hair (on my father’s instruction) which I hosted with equal measures of love and hate. Until the Summer of 1972 when I went to Torquay with school gal pals for a week’s holiday and instigated the beginning of my private pubescent rebellion… It’s easy to be  brave away from home. I had my hair cut, loved it, but ruined my holiday because I spent the rest scared witless for the return home. No mobile phones to send a warning shot ahead to my poor mother. Although I did make a reverse charge call from a public phone box the day before our going back in the hope that she could lay some groundwork, softening the blow. I arrived home and met with the full weight of my father’s anger. No softening there. It was not pretty.

As a woman I grew it again and found I loved having long dark hair. It became an identity of sorts. I believed my hair was my best feature….I took care of it. Used expensive hairdressers to help me nurture and groom it. At the prison, the inmates knew me as the lady with the long hair. I was very very proud of it’s glossy length and all it represented…. and you know what they say ‘pride goes before a fall.’ At the end of 2017 ‘my fall’ made itself known when I discovered large sections of my hair had gone missing leaving white, dead areas of scalp. My hair was no longer waist length by this time, I’d  had it trimmed up to shoulder length. After numerous clinical appointments with my GP, dermatologists, and other experts plus lots of tests and investigations, it was confirmed that I had an auto immune condition. The hair would never grow back, a rather grim picture was presented to me by the consultant. The rest of my crowning glory would probably continue in the same vein and by-the-way prepare yourself for baldness. Steroid injections were offered, but could not guarantee any benefit. I rejected that idea.

Initially I cried. My hair had formed, without my even realising it, a very strong personality of its own. The idea of losing it made me feel less and insignificant. It surprised me how afraid I felt about the potential of a bald head and all that might mean. A decision took seed in my mind. I wanted to manage this, it was linked to my health and unlike Samson I was determined I would not be weaker without it. Thus began an intense revision of how I was living. I also decided to chop it all off.  If hair was waving a goodbye, then I wanted to be in the process, not fight it. BB was very supportive, in fact he was the first to check my scalp and notice the bald spots. He is kind, I know he also loved my long hair, but was bravely enthusiastic about the plan to lop it all off.

January 2018 I had it cut into a boyish short, back and sides by a truly talented hairdresser, Deborah @lovehair who knows a thing or two about scalps, hair care and organic products. We began a programme of care together. A plant based shampoo with no chemicals. No more colouring, I was going grey. Good nutrition.  Meditation. Daily Yoga and regular exercise. Six weekly hair cuts which kept the bald areas covered, no mean feat, but had a very definite fresh look. It felt strong and empowering. Suddenly my previous long locks, now removed, felt like a weight had been lifted. I am free and unfettered. I wondered how much of that old look was tied into a need for approval. To meet with a male expectation of femininity. A residue of childhood in our house, perhaps. So much is ingrained in those early years without us even realising it. We carry it on into adulthood and believe it’s our own original thinking.

New me was and is delighted with grey and very short. In fact I’ve gone even shorter now. I’m an older lady who is delighted with this particular badge of honour, my scars, my scalp my battleground (#aliceannsubstack). The auto immune condition plateaued and although some further small circles of hair loss have occurred, they don’t worry me and I am well. It’s possible the whole lot could leave my head, stress my enemy, or it could stay just as it is. Either way I’m content to work with whatever comes. Most importantly I’m working on managing stress levels and maintaining a calm serenity.

In some respects I’d say it’s one of the best things that’s happened to me. We’d never choose the fear stuff, but often it’s out of fear that you really discover who you are and what you’re made of. When the proverbial ….hits the fan, go with it and find your way to something better. I realise this isn’t a cancer diagnosis or some other fierce life altering situation, but it had the power to shift the balance and invite a much needed rethink.

Women will continue to demonstrate their desire for personal freedom by the act of hair cutting as long as civilisations try to oppress them. Suffragettes wore red lipstick on their marches, highlighting their mouths, ‘we have a voice and will be heard’, the mouth was their tool of choice. At the time red lipstick was associated with prostitutes. They aligned themselves with all women and all women’s rights. Wonderful. We make our statements our own way. There was maybe something of the rebel in that 5 year old who first took scissors to plait…. She went on to get a small tattoo for her 50th birthday despite her father’s previous  warnings against them. Small statements amount to big personal declarations.

What about you? Is there something you have to say? Speak up, I can’t hear you. Better still, do something, be bold. I’m with you all the way. Off to the hairdressers later. Short all over please. Till the next time.

A