I Love My Long Hair

I never had long hair growing up. With a haircut like clockwork every few months, my

hair never got very long. I remember once realising that my fringe had got long

enough to touch the end of my nose, which may sound like a lot, but when all of your

hair is this length, it becomes quite a bit less remarkable. So, for most of my life, my

hair has been short enough to never have to (or honestly even be able to) do

anything with.

But that all changed when I moved away. As I began to embrace inner me, my hair

was one of the first things to change – I may not have had much before, but I knew it

would take a while to grow through. So, I decided to get ahead of the game; get

started early. As the rest of me began to shift, my hair was left largely to its own

devices.

The first milestones weren’t the hair itself, it’s what came with it. I started needing a

comb. All-in-one hair product became separate shampoo; conditioner – still the

cheap stuff but at least they’re different bottles now, right? Then it was onto a mini

hairbrush as the length continued to tick up.

I still remember the day when it was finally long enough to do something with it. And

in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much. But that day when I put my hair in its

first ponytail was like a brand-new core memory had just been unlocked. 20-year-old

me, enjoying a moment that most girls had nearly two decades previously and was

just an average part of life. But not to me. It was stubby and a little bit silly, but it was

progress. It was personal. It was her first ponytail. I spent the intervening weeks

putting my hair in a ponytail at every opportunity I could.

Suddenly things seemed to move quicker. My mini hairbrush got bigger. Brushing my

hair was taking minutes, not seconds. Washing my hair took longer and needed

more product to cover, making the switch to nicer products at around the same time

a bittersweet moment; sweet for the meaning that my hair was now worth it, bitter for

the extra money it was costing.

I went to a salon for the first time. Watching the stylist work magic with what she had,

making it look; feel more luxurious than it ever had before. As it got longer, I started

to need to move it away from my head as I laid down to avoid pulling it in my sleep.

Suddenly, a scrunchie became my new signature, something to sit on my left wrist

until things got real; only putting my hair up would do. And as I started doing more

with it, so did everyone else.

My closest friends, my sisters, started to style it. These special moments, connecting

me to the ones that I loved; who were walking this path with me. Subtle curls

curving around my ears as they gave me my first makeover. A perfect plait from

restless hands at a party, sensing an opportunity to keep busy. A silky heatless

curler, given to her to help her get these looks herself. My sisters were there to help

fill in the gaps that she had never been taught in her infancy.

Now, my hair reaches down to my nipples and between my shoulder blades. Its dirty

blonde shade complements my skin tone. My wash routine leaves it silky smooth,

shining and smelling amazing. I can blow it out, curl it whilst I sleep; straighten it at

will. When it’s up in a ponytail, it gives me something to fiddle with – there’s no better

feeling than running your fingers through your hair. And now, it enhances every

picture I find myself in.

There’s not much about me or my body that I like; but I love my long hair.

Written by, Sophie Layton (she/her)