I’d accepted my shaved head – until I heard two women’s comments

It’s never OK to dissect someone’s appearance, especially when you don’t know a thing about them (Picture: Emma Flint)

From the moment I made the decision to shave my head, I knew that, at some point or another, negative comments would be made.

But I never expected to be on the receiving end of them so soon. 

Mere weeks after that first shave, two strangers commented on my new ‘do’. 

‘Look at her, she looks awful with her hair like that,’ one quipped.  

‘Why would you do that to yourself?’ The other responded. 

My whole body tensed before I even saw them looking at me. And while I wish I could say I turned around and gave these women a piece of my mind, instead all I could do was stare at them in quiet disbelief. 

It’s never OK to dissect someone’s appearance, especially when you don’t know a thing about them. And judging me for shaving my head surely is the lowest of lows? 

I first experienced hair loss when I was 15 years old. I had one small patch at the nape of my neck that I discovered one day while staying at my then boyfriend’s house.  

The next time I found a bald spot I was 32 and it was much bigger (Picture: Emma Flint)

As much as I tried to stay calm about it, I was deeply embarrassed, not to mention clueless as to why it had happened. My mum thought it could be due to stress, though I didn’t feel particularly stressed until after I found the patch.  

It soon grew back though and, as it never developed into a persistent issue at that point, I convinced myself I must have yanked it out while styling my hair. Before long, I forgot all about it. 

The next time I found a bald spot I was 32 and it was much bigger. 

I was in the downstairs bathroom of our Cornwall holiday cottage, ran my fingers through my hair and felt naked skin at the back of my head. 

I hadn’t noticed more hair shedding than usual prior to this, yet there it was under the harsh light of the bathroom as I angled my phone to take a photo.  

I purchased satin pillow cases, hair bonnets, and supplements – anything to help stop it from happening (Picture: Emma Flint)

What I hoped would be an unpleasant one off experience again, then turned into a regular occurrence. I’d discover a bald patch, it would eventually grow back, then just when it was barely visible I’d discover a new spot elsewhere.   

And so began my two year battle with hair loss. 

I became obsessed with my hair, constantly asking myself, ‘Am I shedding more in the shower? Is this a new patch?’ 

I’d also take photos of the patches and zoom in to look for growth; I’d buy expensive shampoos and serums that did nothing; I purchased satin pillow cases, hair bonnets, and supplements – anything to help stop it from happening.

In fact, the only thing stopping me from shaving my hair off at that point was a comment an ex-friend had made – she’d said I’d look ugly and it had haunted me ever since. 

My new hairdresser agreed I had all the hallmarks of the condition (Picture: Emma Flint)

Eventually, I came to learn that I have alopecia areata. 

Although I’ve never had an official diagnosis of the condition, I know from thorough research that this is what I have as it’s identified as ‘an autoimmune condition’ consisting of ‘patchy hair loss’, typically appearing as ‘roundish patches varying in size’.  

Not to mention my new hairdresser agreed I had all the hallmarks of the condition. 

The exact reason for hair loss varies from person to person, though stress is often an underlying factor. And as someone who is constantly anxious – I wish I was exaggerating – it’s unsurprising that all that stress has now physically caught up with me.  

That’s why, in late February, I finally decided to brave the shave.  

I knew I was going to cry (Picture: Emma Flint)

When I walked out of the hairdressers with a freshly shaved head. I was nervous, sure, but I also felt elated. 

I’d done it. I’d taken back control of the narrative, given the middle finger to patriarchal beauty standards, and felt confident for the first time in a long time.

And then, two weeks later, I heard those women.  

Despite looking right at them, they seemed unperturbed and soon resumed their discussion in hushed tones. I, on the other hand, felt vulnerable.

I was completely alone, hundreds of miles from home in the Isle of Wight on holiday, and suddenly wished that I could shrink away and disappear. 

About to meet my partner, I greeted him with a forced smile and hurriedly directed him back towards our car. I knew I was going to cry, but I refused to do it where anyone, especially those women, could see me. 

I pushed past it and spent the day with my partner on the beach simply watching the world go by (Picture: Emma Flint)

Only when I sat in the passenger seat did I let the tears go. I felt stupid, like I’d made a huge mistake in believing I could pull off a shaved head, annoyed and sad.

All I wanted to do for the rest of the holiday now was hide away. However, I also didn’t want those women to win.

In the end I pushed past it and spent the day with my partner on the beach simply watching the world go by. And in that serene silence I realised something important: We shouldn’t live to serve other people’s ideas of beauty, nor should our appearance be a topic of discussion.   

Yes, I could have shaved my hair on nothing more than a whim, but I could have also been living with cancer, or, like I am doing, living with an autoimmune disease that attacks my hair follicles.  

Bottom line, you never know what someone has gone through, so treat them with kindness no matter their appearance. 

Luckily I’ve been able to move forward and embrace this new look, this new me, and I genuinely adore everything about how my shaved head looks and feels now.

I know other cutting remarks will come. But this time, I’m ready for them.

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