If I Could Be Stronger and You Were Just Older, We Might Last This Out Longer..

Wet are my new favourites. Sadly because of their band name I can't tell you much about them; Google churns out lots of information about a popular Scottish band meaning I can give you plenty of Wet Wet Wet facts if you'd like (nope, not the same, I know). Their songs are beautiful, reminding me of College and Hurts, plenty of synth and whimsical lyrics. They played The Lexington the day after I left for Berlin but I hope they return soon so we can all enjoy them real life. Here's what I've been listening to, on repeat, pretty solidly, for the last few weeks.

Some Of The Worst Mistakes In My Life Were Haircuts..

I’ve wanted to cut all my hair off ever since I was told a bizarre dream by a girl I used to work with. She said that when she got married (it was specific, she HAD to married – presumably so the man had no escape) she would cut all her hair off so it would grow back luscious and fresh; she would wear wigs until she was ready to reveal her untainted hair to the world. I found this hilarious and strangely appealing; what would it feel like to start over with your hair? I’ve had red, black, blonde, blue hair, curly, straight and crimped over the years so it’s fair to say I’d inflicted a fair bit of damage on my poor head of hair.

Pre Baldness Length

The idea nestled in the depths of my mind and I vowed that at some point in my life I would shave my head. The idea popped back up after my first summer working in India. It was the most incredible experience (blog post coming one day, promise!) and I knew that I wanted to raise as much money as possible for the next group of volunteers that were going to work with them – little did I know I’d end up joining them.  So, after not much thought at all, I decided I would shave my hair to raise money in honour of the Bachpan boys who stole my heart. I wanted to do something bold, something different than a cake sale, and show the children I worked with that they meant so much to me I would gladly surrender my hair for them. I already had a pretty severe undercut as a kind of stepping stone to the skinhead, which irritated the hell out of the rest of my hair. I was left with a permanent dreadlock from the shaved section irritating the long hair, so I kind of had to go through with it after that – it needed evening out! And of course, this was something I had always thought about, so my reasons for shaving my hair weren’t entirely selfless; I was curious and charitable all at once.

My friends thought the idea was brilliant and brave, although I’m sure many of them thought I wouldn’t go through with it. My love at the time was not so keen on the idea… This is a huge understatement. We were discussing it over dinner in Paris, arguably the most romantic city in the world, arguing over my hair. He couldn’t imagine me without hair and didn’t care to. I was sympathetic at first, his opinion mattered most to me and I hated the thought that he might not feel the same about me without hair (I obviously hoped my personality mattered slightly more than my looks but ya never know), it was a big change. After volleying our points back and forth for some time I lost patience and told him something along the lines that he would just have to get used to it, because it was happening. He walked out of the restaurant for a much needed cigarette break and left me sitting alone in the world’s most romantic city. With conflicting feelings, as I very much didn’t want to upset him, but I resolved that this was something I really really wanted to do.

After an incredibly stressful summer (which you can read about here if you haven’t already) I went for it. I had it all planned out; I would throw a ‘hair cutting’ party, everyone who donated to my chosen charities would be able to cut a bit of my hair off throughout the night, the highest bidder getting the accolade of shaving my head entirely. The reality was that I had a complete Britney moment. I stood in front of the mirror staring intently at myself in a way I never really had before and felt the overwhelming urge to do it there and the. I haphazardly cut chunks of my hair away, a poor friend observing powerlessly, begging me to stop. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done, and although it probably wasn’t very healthy to cut all my hair off myself (I don’t know if there’s ever a good time for that activity really) it felt amazing. I was hacking away at something that had, unbeknownst to me, been weighing me down. I felt lighter, both mentally and physically. I didn’t have much control over my life at this point so I frantically clutched at what belonged to me – my appearance.  The immediate feeling was relief. I’d talked about it for so long by this point and had finally committed to the action of cutting. Then there was my physical appearance. My features were exaggerated much like a Margaret Keane caricature, but in a rather endearing way. I recognised my face from baby photos; I looked doe eyed and innocent although all the pain I was going through at that point wasn’t really happening. The fresh start I had with my hair reflected the fresh start I desperately needed in life.

The first few weeks of being a peanut were fun. I was incredibly nervous to see boyfriend after the laceration but he was kind, as ever. I think even he was taken aback by how much having no hair suited me, and he enjoyed the bristle brush feeling that comes with having a skinhead. My lovely housemate dubbed me the ‘polite punk’ and I had strangers approach me to tell me how they admired it. I felt strangely powerful having no hair, like I’d somehow managed to snub our modern society’s version and values of beauty; I still felt feminine and pretty without hair, it was incredibly invigorating.

This feeling lasted a few weeks, much like when you make a drastic change to your appearance (think something like piercings, hair dying or tattoos) and eventually you become accustomed to it, enveloping it into a part of you. This didn’t happen to me. Although I knew it suited me and I’d done it for an incredibly good cause (it raised somewhere between £400-£500 I think) I felt alienated from myself and the enormity of what I had done began to sink in. I’d lust after girls with hair, feeling severe pangs of jealousy. There were days when I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror because I didn’t recognise the girl looking back. If I didn’t wear makeup I looked sick, if I didn’t sleep properly I looked sick, if I cried I looked sick. There are very few photos from this point in my life, and absolutely no selfies. Having no hair, which at first felt liberating, now made me feel exposed and incredibly vulnerable. I felt invisible and overlooked, particularly when it came to boys, even though people stared wherever I went.

How I felt I looked majority of the time

What inspired me to write this post was hearing of thisincredible woman who photographed herself every day for a year after cutting off all her hair. I honestly could not have done it. Having no hair shattered my confidence after the initial joy of it. It was this gigantic part of my identity gone and I struggled for a long time to readjust to my face without inches of hair covering it. Now, a year and a few months on I feel like Rapunzel even though my hair is only just below my ears, in some kind of French schoolgirl bob. I can’t wait for it be shoulder length again, which it should be by next summer. I always insisted cutting my hair off wasn’t a big deal (“it’s only hair, it’ll grow back!” must have been said at least 50 times to all the people who asked me why) but it affected me in ways I didn’t think were possible.  I’m super proud that I did it, and I wish I’d had the confidence to experiment more with it, but I was so traumatised that I just wanted the short stages to be over and feel myself again. That was the hard part, not feeling ‘myself,’ which I realise is ridiculous because how could a haircut change the very fibres of who you are? For whatever reason becoming a baldie shook me to the core; I desperately clung to who I was and tried to channel this through my demeanour and a great deal of eyeliner. I most probably won’t shave it all off again, but for anyone who is thinking of doing it – go for it. It was the most interesting transition of my life and as the girl I worked with suspected, your hair grows back beautifully. 

'I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat'

If you're on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram or any other kind of time-killing social network you've most likely seen many a selfie of people, famous and civilian alike, posing with tampons along with the hashtag, Just a Tampon. You may have also seen the word 'Trousers' been thrown around, slightly confusing if you’re not aware of the background story…

Plan UK have partnered with V Point News to break the taboo around menstruation and women’s sanitary items by inviting people to share selfies with tampons (or pads, whatever floats your boat) and text TAMPON to 70007 to donate £3 to Plan UK. The aim of the campaignis to raise awareness of, and hopefully abolish, the VAT on these ‘luxury’ (as if) items. This will hopefully empower women to feel that the period is no longer a subject to be ashamed of, the word no longer muttered from the corner of your mouth to friends when the monthly cramps inevitably grace you (hurrah if you’re already in that place - confidence not cramps). There are two painful memories that spring to mind when I think of periods, my first when I was in Year 5 of primary school (I developed at the speed of light) and I had to run into the disabled toilet at school to change. Embarrassing not only because I didn’t personally know any other girls suffering this (however I knew they existed from the cute range of bags hanging on the back of the toilet door, each holding our precious sanitary items – I still remember mine was white with blue seashells on it) but also because the toilet was directly opposite the staff room. GOD FORBID I was caught sneaking out of the ‘teachers only except for poor little girls on their period’ toilet, it would have crushed my ten year old soul. The other is when, at a much older age, I came on unexpectedly and had to rush to Boots to try and purchase some much needed tampons. I say ‘try’ – I was completely broke. I went to pay with my Boots points and to my horror, and of the woman who was serving me, I was something like 4p too short. What followed was a look of pity and an uncomfortable few hours till I went home.  

Just because men aren’t lucky enough to have the monthly gift from Mother Nature this isn’t a campaign that excludes men; V Point News website states that ‘sharing different viewpoints, experiences and ideas: that is how real gender quality is achieved.’ Okay, so it isn’t likely that when you’ve run out of tampons a man is going to be the saviour handing you the emergency one, but it would be nice to have a little more understanding around the subject that affects women worldwide every month.

The wonder that is Jon Snow (Channel 4, not GoT) was one of the recent celebrities appearing slightly flummoxed while posing with a tampon in aid of #JustATampon. His photo stirred outrage from one twitter user, Bruce Everiss. To Jon Snow’s tweet supporting the abolition of tax on tampons, Everiss responded ‘Why? Many other necessities of life are taxed.’ Other users chimed in, trying to illustrate the point that tampons are a necessity to women, so being taxed on the item was essentially being taxed for being female (you can read the full conversation here). Everiss finally retorted to one tweet that asked him what male only taxes there were – his answer, a simple one word response – ‘Trousers.’ So, it’s far to say the point V Point made about sharing experiences and ideas didn’t account for the views of the charming Everiss. Feeling so enraged about the subject of tax free Tampons, he felt the need to go write a blog post on the subject.  

Everiss introduces himself on his little corner of the internet with the statement that his blog is a ‘reasonable person’s sensible commentary on the political environment.’ Few words of this are accurate; he definitely commentates but there isn’t much of his article ‘Nutty Feminists and their Tampons’ that strikes me as ‘reasonable,’ much less so ‘sensible.’ In fact, Everiss’s short blog (thank gosh for that) strikes me as the view of a man who hasn’t really ever encountered an everyday woman. Literally, ever. It makes me wonder about his dear mum, or perhaps a lack of sisters and the (SURELY) distinct absence of a female gender offspring. The lack of empathy for women and misguided ideas on feminism borders on hatred for females. There is a dangerous lack of awareness and compassion in his blog - read with trepidation. 

He begins his blog by boldly stating that the feminist movement ‘doesn’t care and is doing nothing about’ the young girls and women being raped in the Middle East, or girls being subjected to FGM (Female Genital Mutilation). Apparently we’re more concerned with ‘growing then dying [..] underarm hair.’ These unfounded views are enough of a reason for Everiss to brand the feminist movement as ‘utterly pathetic.’ He fails to acknowledge the work of Amnesty International, an organisation recognised as fighting for the basic human rights that every person should be entitled to, often focusing on women and girls rights as they are so routinely denied to females around the world. The video below is of an art event  Amnesty International held in an effort to end FGM.

I don’t know if the women who attended would label themselves as feminists, but they’re definitely women fighting for a cause they care passionately about – there goes Everiss’s point that women ‘don’t care.’ What baffles me about this flippant point of his is how he can disregard, and ultimately shame women for being feminist in the same sentence that he describes the atrocities that many women face. His definition of feminism is dangerous; it’s his kind of ignorant attitude that makes people think feminism is a dirty word, applied to extremists who loathe men. Feminism, as simply as I can put it, is the principle of advocating rights of women to equal those of men. Anyone can be a feminist. Men can be (and are, believe it or not - click here to see some friendly male famous feminist faces) feminists. However for the likes of Everiss it seems it is easier to dismiss women as image-obsessed, callous individuals ignoring the bigger picture rather than admitting we might, actually, have a really good point about sanitary items being tax free. ‘Trousers,’ to me, is a very weak dispute for women’s liberation.