The long and the short of it – the follies of my follicles


I was born in 1984 behind a dusty mine heap in a small town call Randfontein. This was the time before cell phones, the internet and even hipsters. As a little girl I was like any other, I had long brown hair (as little girls do), that my mother would blow dry and brush. Sometime in Primary school, heaven knows why, my mother joked that I should get my hair cut in a “boy’s style”. (Mind you, I was a bit of a tomboy.)

Much to her horror, I did the very thing that she feared – I cut all my hair off.  One eager to please hairstylist and a pair of scissors launched a life-long obsession with my hair. In the course of my life I have had too many hairstyles to count. Heavens I don’t even have pictures of all of them.

I blame it on my short span of attention. However, I have had the same hairstylist for six years at least. The hairstyles are always chosen with care, after lengthy hours of looking through magazines and these days the internet. They are always inspired by actors and characters from TV. Sometimes I am inspired by people too, last year I cut my hair into a faux undercut after meeting Tamara Dey. But my adoration for her lasted longer than the style she inspired.

My hair has not only been in various styles and lengths, but has been dyed red, black and rich brown. Black was the colour I wanted after a break-up with an abusive boyfriend. Red for the teenager who wanted to experiment and rich brown for the woman who wanted to be more sophisticated.

Sometimes I am still not sure what propels me to change my hair this often. But hey, I am growing it out.  Now, if I can only get back the hair I had as a little girl.


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