TWO WEEKS ago Independent Columnist Johann Hari asked where all the strong women had gone. A good question I’m sure you’ll agree. But it’s more than that. To begin with this week, I’d rather like to talk about my hair. I know, I know - you think I’ve finally, actually, most positively, definitely lost it this time, devoting an entire page to my tresses, but bear with me.
Ten months ago I made a radical decision. I went and got my hair cropped. I’d fantasised for years about how much simpler my life would be with less hair in it and how much more time I’d have. Just think of what I could do with this extra time. The lives I could save! The novels I could write! However, fantasies aside, nothing could prepare me for just how politicizing my new ‘do was going to be.
To illustrate, here is an average day in the life of my hair. Wake up. Shower. Dry hair (average time-span five minutes). Run fingers through it. Note that a few strands are threatening to tickle my ears. Consider booking hair in for a trim. Feel smug when running for the bus in typically blustery weather and hair stays wholly, resolutely in place. Entertain some kind of conversation with casual acquaintances who haven’t seen hair for months. Graciously accept compliments about how much hair suits one, how cool it is, how brave it is…Hang on a second: Brave? As a feminine lady-type person (thereabouts) there are many things I want my hair to be; brave is not one of them. Or so I thought.
It turns out having shorter than average hair has inspired all manner of unprecedented results. For starters, I would never have believed it if you’d told me how concerned I would suddenly become about the appearance of my neck (Oh Vanity Thy Name is Jennie Agg). Likewise I’ve learned from various scissor happy-hairdressers that I have what’s known in the trade as a “jumpy hair-line.” I’ve never dared to ask them for a literal translation, but I always feel somehow that this is the coiffeur’s cuss of choice.
Furthermore I’ve noted that women generally smile and coo in the manner of doting grandparents; they claim to love it but really you can tell they’re secretly relieved they don’t have to live with it. Slightly more positively, people are less inclined to assume I’m a total bimbette: after all, when was the last time you saw a page three gal with a crop*? Rather less flattering, on the other hand, are distant relatives who make “hilarious” jokes about me “doing a Britney.” Apparently my hair-style makes me associable with a mentally-ill, brolly wielding, substance-abusing divorcée. How fabulous.
The problem is, I’ve decided, a visible lack of iconic hair cuts in today’s (hair-ist?) society. Perhaps like Johann’s complaint about the pandemic lack of strong women, there’s also a lack of strong hair-do’s. Genuinely. Take a look at your five closest female friends (who can be vaguely bothered with their hair that is, I’ll vouch that this isn’t for everyone) and ask yourself this question: Follicly speaking are they distinguishable from Girls Aloud? Frizz-ease serum? Check. Straightened within an inch of its life? Check. Incremental colour difference? Check. Naturally the end result of all this is that my closely cropped head and naked ears stick out amongst the sea of long-layered locks like a giraffe’s sore thumb.
And who do I blame? Why, Jennifer Aniston of course. In the past we had Audrey Hepburn, Mia Farrow and Twiggy flying the flag for short hair. Now I challenge you to name one Hollywood starlet with a genuine cropped head. Chances are if she did go for the chop, it was for a film-role, she grew it out immediately or it saw her irrevocably described in tabloid terms as “kooky” or “indie-chic.” Indeed anyone that dares to stick their barnet above the parapet these days is instantly shot to pieces, short haired or otherwise (poor old Amy Winehouse…).
This is where dependable Ms. Aniston comes in. The owner of the last truly iconic hair style of our times; “the Rachel” was mid-length, with layers and tasteful highlights. Flattering. Versatile. Safe. Predictable. It would seem as if our generation of women are toning down their ambition, we’re also toning down our tresses. Of course, if we’re being strictly historical, I’ll concede that it’s possible iconic hair-do’s were on the decline before our dear old Friends had even set foot in Central Perk. One only needs to look at Margaret Thatcher’s trademark steely perm to begin to see what I mean. Perhaps if the iron-lady hadn’t turned out to be so innately objectionable, women today might be more receptive to the concept of signature ‘dos.
This is hair back-lash at its worst, people, at its very worst. So buck the trend, I say, crop it, perm it, dye it bubble-gum pink- just do something. Anything. Think how much richer your life will be for it.
Now, if only I could start that novel…
* As in a short hair style, not as in “Danielle Lloyd in Horse and Hound shocker! Check out our super-sexy pics…”
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