
A few years ago, I fell victim to the unavoidable hair-chop epidemic of the 21st century. You know the one.
And while I don't regret the spontaneity and bravery of it all, I experienced something I wasn't anticipating while caped up in the hairdresser's chair.
But before I get too deep into my hairy reflection, I would like to add that at the time, the French/Italian/Fleabag bob was a relatively fresh trend. There was no commentary on the short vs. long debate, all I knew was that I'd had long hair my entire life and the world was telling me that the more hair, the better.
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Previous to the chop, I was a fake blonde with a head of hair that I had been treating like an accessory for years. Looking back now, I realise just how much I relied on it for my confidence, my overall appearance, and the feeling of being... well, hot.
The weird part was that this feeling didn't come down to hating the haircut. Actually, I loved the bob and felt worlds cooler than I ever had. It was giving chic. Giving effortless.