The trials and errors of a pixie crop

OK, I admit it. being a girl with very very short hair is HARD. Yes I've been posting and postulating about how to make it look nice and what a difference a dye makes, but I'm going to come out and admit defeat; I'm rubbish with it in so many ways. All of which I'll try to resolve, in the true manner of this blog, but by 'eck this ones a toughie.

1.  (I do love a list) My Wedding Day
This won't be number 1 priority for a lot of you, but since I am typical girl, and my every other waking thought is weddings (I work it around permanent hypochondria), it's top of mine. I want long girlish wavy, centre parted flowy hair with my big white dress. I just can't picture any other option. I have one year and counting, a year I plan to spend eking out as many inches as humanly possible. From relentless questioning of all my hair stylist friends, I reckon I can expect about a mid-ear length bob - just enough for some realistic extensions for the big day, if only I can battle through extreme urge to get it cut. It's a battle of epic proportions. Torn between extreme pride in how much its coming along and horror at the puffy sided monstrosity masquerading as a hairdo that just gets worse with every day of further growth.

Um, I failed. There were only so many times I could hear Dadjokes' gentle encouragement to sort my hair out before I cracked and went for a cut. My plan is this; keep the top untouched, then as it grows it will disguise the terrible sides and back stages. Problem is hairdressers do not seem to adhere to my plan, and yesterday I came back from a cut a bit heartbroken at the amount chopped off. To the untrained eye it probably wasn't that much. To my hyper alert state, where every millimetre of precious growth is practically obsessed over, I was gutted to see about a months worth of length sitting in my lap. I'm not sure anyone can understand how much you treasure your stupid, fluffy, long back and sides unless they've grown it from absolutely nothing. It didn't help when Dadjokes said 'oh, that much off? maybe it wasn't so bad before'.

2. Do I stay or do I Grow?
On the other hand I have never had so many compliments in my life. I'm not sure if they're pity ones from the people I know, but even strangers are telling me they love my hair. Work took me backstage at X Factor a couple of weeks ago and Jonny stopped me in the corridor with 'oooh, love the pixie crop'. Highly esteemed praise indeed. I arrived for a meeting last week at a PR agency, and the receptionist pointed me in the direction for a casting. I am 32 years old, I don't get mistaken for a model in ordinary life. All of this is making me wonder if I should stick with the crop. This would solve the (currently impossible) growing out issue, but scupper my romantically wispy wedding plans. Plus I'd need three weekly cuts, and I just can't maintain that level of upkeep. Its just not me. Then there's all the other stuff to deal with. Like...

3. Lady Leanings
I live near Stoke Newington, Lesbian capital of London. When I walk down the high street I am astoundingly blatantly checked out from all directions. It is flattering to say the least, but I can see girls looking at Dadjokes holding my hand, thinking 'poor boy, he doesn't even know.' Why am I suddenly more attractive to my own sex? Does this mean I look like a boy? look like a lesbian (what does a lesbian look like anyway?), or am just generally looking better? It can only be the hair. Either way it's not great for absolving any self-consciousness. It also means I steer clear of flat shoes and rainbow coloured knitwear.

4. Hair Envy

All of my friends and family are now viewed by measure of hair loveliness. I appreciate a gentle sheen, flowing ends and simple ability to tuck behind ears or put up in a pony. And I calculate how many years it took them to cultivate their manes. And then I go a bit green and ever so slightly snarly at how versatile and flowing their lovely locks are. Even when they take 45 minutes more than me to get ready in the morning. Even when they burn their fingers on their curling tongs. Oh how I remember how annoying that used to be. Still, it only takes me three minutes to wash and dry my hair all in. Hah.

5. Three Day Hair
Very short hair that has suddenly decided to go very curly is very difficult to style. On wash day it is resolutely puffy, no matter what exotic combination of styling aids I put on it. And I have tried nearly everything. Also Kirby grips do not grip. There is no helping first day hair for me. Second day is mildly better. This could be due to said exotic combination of products settling in to do their job properly. Its still somewhat unruly though. Day three and finally my hair looks OK. It sort of stays where I want it to, and the texture is more separated and cool. And also unclean. But I'm reluctant to wash it and start the bhd cycle all over again. Social occasions are planned around my third day hair, I just hope for minimal hugging - it leads to hair sniffing...

Since I was so recently and aggressively trimmed I'm starting again with the grow out. This time my plan is more combative, including wet look gel and a relaxing treatment. That way it might grow downwards instead of outwards. Wish me luck, there are wedding photos at stake...

the last time I grew out...

The Hair Thing & How It Happened

How it was...

During a whirlwind day of scary diagnosis, meeting hundreds of specialists, seriously freaking out, avoiding (in my case) or asking (in DadJokes' case) thousands of questions, you may be surprised to hear I was pretty consumed with the hair thing, even then.

This could have be in an effort to blank out the scarier stuff, it may be because I work in media and media portrays cancer as a bald episode with vomiting and sadness (very important tip, if you are expecting a medical result of any kind, no matter how unlikely worst case scenario is, do NOT watch 'My Sisters Keeper' 3 days before. It is a very good film, but it makes diagnosis infinitely and unneccessarily more terrifying.)

Or it could be because I am a 31 year old beauty editor, and woman I should point out, who was always all about the hair, it was long, it was happily curly or wavy, depending on it's mood, I had just fully mastered the tongs, and then bam! 'you will lose your hair'. This is not something I had contemplated, except when considering Gail Porter on the odd occasion and wondering how she goes through life bald and proud, and how I don't think I could. Turns out I was right.

Not all chemotherapy combination means you'll lose your hair. In my case however, the absinthe-equivalent cocktail meant there was no point even trying the cold cap, the best thing was to go for a shorter style to make the transition a bit easier.

So, a couple of days later I held back the tears, went round to the wonderful Claire Rothsteins house (she of hair angel, friend and wig expert status), who cheered me up as she gave me a 'Frieda' - hottest cut of the season, named after choppy, kooky supermodel of the same name.





I do realise I look saddest in this picture, but that's because the first cut is the trickiest - no going back you see, wake up call etc. But, I liked the cut. There's something of a release in doing a drastic hair thing, knowing you have no choice to make as such.

This cut lasted till one wash when I couldn't style it anything like Frieda. Useless at hair.

So stepped in Kenna of Kennaland.com fame. He has been a long standing very good friend, opened his own studio (if you can get to East London, it is a lovely experience, and he's very interested and up on the NHS wig thing). he came to my place and gave me the best super crop ever. I hated it of course, it was pixie short and nothing like anything I'd ever go for, but after a few days (this one was easy to style), a hundred 'you should always have your hair like that' compliments I loved it, which of course meant I was getting more anxious at the inevitable result.







I had decided to try work again the week after, wanted to go in with my real hair, so obsessively tugged the sides regularly to check it was still going strong. I've said it before but I just couldn't imagine it falling out, couldn't see it happening.

This is what the literature said:

Hair can take 3-4 weeks to start to fall out.
Your pubic hair will most likely go first (result!)
You can lose 50% of your hair without anyone noticing.

So, two weeks after chemotherapy when I had my first sign (middle point, above), I thought I had a week or so left. Something of a shocker then to itch my head that evening and come away with 7/8 strands of hair. Result was immediate meltdown and lengthy discussion with DadJokes and Google on what to do next. Turns out Google not so helpful, but DadJokes infinitely more so. With no real info on how long the thing takes, how it happens (I had visions of clumps of hair on my shoulders at work) we plumped for an immediate grade 1 all over, and wig debut for first day back at work.

I'm not going to lie, I had come to love the pixie crop, the shaving was the worst bit so far, I blubbed, DadJokes blubbed, the cats were beside themselves with excitement, and I couldn't look in the mirror for a day. Turns out I was a bit premature too since the super short didn't entirely fall out for another week or so. BUT, definitely the right thing to do. It was the anticipation that was the worst thing - isn't it always?

I even got used to the GI Jane look, I still prefer it to the Richard O Brien look, and all this several stages of shortening means I know exactly what stages to look forward to when it does come back, and I'll LOVE every single one.

Now for the brave bit...I'll let the cat take the limelight!










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