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Throwing away the ideals of your teenage years and accepting the realities of ageing can be a difficult process. It’s scary, but sometimes reinvention can be fun.
When I was a teenager, I had excessively long hair.
It was a cross between an early Beatles look and the iconic late-noughties swoop of Justin Bieber’s bowl trim. Like many kids at the time, I wanted to replicate what I’d seen in music videos and TV. I wanted to be cool.
The dodgy haircut was complimented by skin-tight skinny jeans, a questionable tee from Topman, and an assortment of brightly-coloured Converse shoes. This was the precursor to the ‘swag’ era of the early tens, after all. Excessively loud and obnoxious fits were all the rage. The longer the hair, the better.
I say all this because self-image and body confidence has been a huge part of my life and anxieties since I was about 16. The style of my early teenage years was the last time I wasn’t self-conscious about how I look, even though the outfits would be utterly ridiculous today. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become far more worried about being unappealing, unattractive and…well…unsightly.
The main reason for feeling this way has been my hair.
I noticed it seemed weirdly thin in pictures when I was entering sixth form. From there I began to worry that I was losing it, taking pictures constantly and running my hands through it constantly when I was alone. I’d compare photos from previous years, routinely check whether things had gotten worse, look at my hair in different lighting. The obsession grew and grew until it began to take over my entire sense of identity.
By the time I’d finished university it had evolved into an all-encompassing worry. I grew out the hair I did have until it was a bizarre, messy nest that looked ridiculous. If you go back far enough through the Thred archives you’ll find video and pictures of me at 23 in 2019 that are less than flattering. I looked crazy, to put it bluntly.
I then shaved it all off that summer before growing it out again and wearing a hat every day.
Given that we would film content in the office most of the week, covering my head with a cap was a way to simply not worry and just get on with my life. That’s all well and good for a brief transitional period, but this behaviour steadily became consistent until it was an essential part of my routine. From then on I never left the house without a hat. In private, I’d still worry about my hair and how thick or thin it was. The madness continued.
Fast forward to this year, the big old 2025, and my anxiety had grown even worse. By this point I couldn’t even look in a mirror with my hair on display. I’d cover mirrors in bathrooms when showering, avoid photos at all times, retreat into myself whenever a mention of dating or personal style came up. Things were bad.
As I’ve talked about in previous blog entries, this year has forced me to face several fears head on, such as jumping onboard aeroplanes and taking to the skies. Now that I’m nearly thirty, many of my friends are starting to get married – which means formal ceremonies must be attended. I’ll have to dress up in a suit with my hair out for everyone to see.
With no way of covering my head, something needed to be done.
