I have had bald men around me since I was a child and found them perfectly natural, but the first time I realised that women could be bald and beautiful was when I saw pictures of Sinead O‘Connor. I thought she was lovely and seeing her shaved head made me want to do it myself, and the feeling never completely left me. However, I now know I didn’t have the right attitude for the look back then.
Because it would have been a fashion choice, and I have learned that fashion alone is not a good reason to do something. I also lacked the self-regard and the attitude needed to rock the look. Now I have both.
My baldness is a statement. Of independence. Of change. That I don‘t give a fuck what society thinks a “proper woman” or a “good girl” should look like. [The answer to that question, in case you’re wondering, is: However she feels like looking].
I’m sure some would say I am pulling a Britney, either as a result of my ongoing struggle with depression or because of a mid-life crisis, but no: I have been on the sunny side, mood-wise, for a couple of months now, and I am feeling neither old nor desperate. Neither am I physically ill, thank goodness. It was entirely voluntary and not done on the spur of the moment. I had 25+ years to think about this.
So, here it is: I have pulled a Sinead. Ditched the hair. Joined the ranks of the proudly bald.
However, it has been quite cold here lately, with freezing Arctic winds that strike you with an icy blow once the sun and blue sky have lured you outdoors without proper protection. I am too canny for them, however, and so I cover up my naked head with various head coverings, including buffs, caps and hats. Here are some of them, and one of my head, which is already showing a slight fuzz (and healing nicely).
And now, how about that tattoo? I have only been considering it for about 10 years.