Bad Hair Days #1: cut your hair

facts about the science of hair loss & what you can do about it

one of my hair heroes, James

I’m not ashamed to admit that I love my hair. It’s always been one of my defining features. Thick, dark, glossy. As an average-looking person (I used to work in TV where people are frequently gorgeous), I could at least always be proud of my locks.

Maybe I already told this story - chemo brain is a thing - but when I went to Greece on holiday with a gorgeous friend, the taverna owner consoled me by telling me at least I had ‘quality hair.’

And even now it’s greying, it’s one of my defining features.

So obviously when I heard the word chemo, I started thinking about my hair. It wasn’t anything like my Number One worry - I’m not a diva - but still… The breast cancer nurse confirmed that ‘one of the kinds of chemo you’re likely to need does cause total hair loss.’¹

I did my research to understand why and…

cancer cells are basically on a bender of growth, so chemo has been developed to target those rogue fast dividing cells and commit mass murder on them. But, as collateral damage, it also hits other rapidly renewing human cells, including your hair follicles, skin, gums and nails.

Obviously, I wanted to know if there’s anything to stop this. And yes, there is. It’s called COLD CAPPING aka the slightly less intimidating SCALP COOLING. If you’ve seen the photos of cancer patients wearing crash-test-dummy helmets, that’s what is going on.²

It involves strapping two tight layers of migraine-inducing caps to your head - and then pumping freezing liquid through them, during your chemo treatment, plus a couple of hours either side.

The idea is to reduce the temperature of the hair follicles to reduce blood flow, so they don’t take up the chemo that’s circulating through the body - hopefully protecting them from the ‘eff off and die’ message being sent to the cancer cells.

Now, I’ve never been good with the cold. My hands and feet used to go an alarming spectral yellow in the school playground³ - a great way to freak out my classmates.

Plus so many people online described cold capping as unbearably agonising. Many of my tougher friends, including those who brave winter swims in the sea off Brighton, had found it too much.

My partner was surprised I didn’t at least want to give it a shot. You can always take the cap off if it’s that bad, he said.

Then when I met the consultant, he recommended I try it - though he also prescribed a nice, neat bob to make it easier to do the cold capping.

The ice-packs have to sit really close to the scalp to chill the follicles. The bulk of my long hair would be like wearing a massive woolly hat - completely counterproductive.

So, a couple of days after getting my treatment plan, I went for the biggest and least wanted makeover of my life…

Makeover by order of the medic

My own dearly beloved hairdresser Javi wasn’t available, and he recommended James at Whip in Brighton. I won’t lie - I felt extremely vulnerable. I’ve grown my hair long for years (despite a good mate telling me very seriously when I turned 40 that I should definitely get the chop because ‘older women don’t suit long hair.’) and it did feel like part of my identity.

they weren’t kidding about the good vibes

Within seconds, James made me feel utterly nurtured. He’d cleared his morning to take it slow (I’d only booked an hour), served me a cafetiere of coffee, and paid me so many compliments about my hair but also how he could do amazing things with it.

A bob was a bad idea, he said. It wouldn’t allow enough access to the follicles on the scalp and any loss I did have would be harder to cover. He showed me pictures of something that was more of a mix of a pixie and a bob - a bixie, perhaps, or a pob. And he got stuck in…

While he worked, we talked about everything under the sun. I’ve never much liked hairdresser small talk, but this was the big stuff: languages, love, life, ambition, mortality.

My old hair lay in curls on the floor. My new style was taking shape. My neck was chilly.

I put my glasses back on.

before and after...

And I absolutely bloody loved it. I would never have had this done without the diagnosis but I actually felt younger, almost gamine and Parisienne. OK, my neck was freezing but otherwise, I adored this look. And I also liked that I’d taken control.

But my next concern - would this brilliant haircut last more than a couple of weeks?

Because when chemo kills off the follicles, it happens quickly - most people start lose their hair within 2-3 weeks of the first chemo. I knew I had to make a contingency plan, and booked myself in for a wig consultation.

it even looks good after chemo 2 on NYE

As I post this, it’s 12 days since Chemo 1. And I already have a sense that my nostril hairs are checking out for a while…

To be continued…

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1. Turns out not all chemo does this, but many of the most common ones do.

2. I was actually pleased to find this out, because I’d been quite disturbed by those pictures and trying to understand what the helmets were for. Did chemo make your brain implode? Or incredibly likely to fall over?

3. Raynaud’s Syndrome, I now know. At the time, I pretended I was a ghost.