If there’s one thing I’m obsessed with, it’s other women’s hair.
Or – more specifically – why my hair doesn’t look like other women’s hair.
Ever since first taking to the stylist’s swivel chair over 25 years ago, I’ve been assured that I've "fine hair… but lots of it.”
And it was this ongoing assessment which led me to alternate between wispy shoulder-length styles and short blunt cuts for the best part of two decades.
I have – since the age of four – rocked the Bob, the Rachel, the Spock, the Pob and the Chickenball (don’t ask), and each and every style was a vain attempt to conceal the fact my hair – after a certain point – simply refuses to grow.
Or increase in volume.
So, when Victoria Beckham stepped out rocking the now infamous Pob back in 2006, I thought my prayers had been answered.
The cropped look at the back would suggest a thickness I didn’t actually possess while the contrast between that and the front might fool people into thinking I was one of those women with thick hair who opted to rock a short style.
And for six years, and long after Victoria had moved on from the look, I soldiered on with it.
Until I realised my decision to rock an out-of-date Pob was the equivalent of a middle-aged man opting for the mullet of his youth, that is.
So, out went the Pob and in came more than five years of miniscule pony tails, multiple hair grips, countless vitamins, clip on extensions and genuine envy over those girls whose hair continues to increase in length and depth even after reaching *that* crucial point.
And I couldn’t take it anymore.
After years of threatening to get extensions, I recently decided that if I didn’t go for it now, I never would… and frankly I don’t think anyone (including myself) could put up with my moaning for a minute longer.
I mean, there was an answer to my conundrum, it was there for the taking and yet I was refusing to make the leap.
If I’m honest, I think my reticence stemmed from a fear that I would walk into a salon with my humble 11 strands and leave looking like a Barbarella reject – waist-length, back-combed and with all the subtlety of a boot up the arse.
I wanted to rock thicker hair with a little added length, and I wanted that to do without looking like I had endured a MAJOR overhaul.
Simply put, I wanted extensions which suggested I had just gotten an incredible blow-dry, and, thankfully, last Friday Easilocks provided me with exactly that.
Put in the capable hands of Store Street stylist, Leanne, I lamented my lack of ‘boomph’, compared my fringe to a barcode and raged over how wispy my ends were.
Instead of focussing on what I didn’t have, Leanne suggested we turn our attention to what I specifically wanted, and after I explained that volume was more important than length (but I wouldn’t say no to a few more inches) she got to work.
Ninety minutes and 100 pieces of 14 inch lengths later, I had the hair I lusted over during morning commutes, girlie lunches and nights on the town.
Perfectly matched to my own colour, pre-bonded human hair was applied to my own – not with glue or heat – but with the help of an Easilock which was then sealed in place with an applicator tool.
And instead of looking like someone who had opted for a massive makeover, I looked exactly like myself but with the best version of my own hair.
Thicker, slightly longer and with a loose wave at the end, you’d be hard-pressed to suggest I only had fine hair, but lots of it.
Oh, I had thick hair… and lots of it, damn it.
The cynic in me, however, feared that I may have been blinded by my own love for the locks and had, perhaps, undergone a bigger overhaul than I might have thought.
Deciding to conduct a little experiment, I ‘conveniently forgot’ to tell some friends I had made the leap before meeting them later that night.
While hands instantly reached out to touch my barnet and enquiries were made into my blow-dry and curling technique, nobody roared the word ‘extensions’ at me from across the bar.
It was only further scrutiny, my over-eager grin and my ever-reddening cheeks that gave the game away, but suffice to say my mission was accomplished.
I’m finally the owner of longer, thicker locks and I’m only bloody raging I didn’t do it sooner.