I cut and dyed my own hair for the first time and no, it wasn’t a crisis.

Photo Credit: Me, my yoga mat, and half-working lighting.

I cut and dyed my own hair for the first time — and no, it wasn’t a crisis.
It wasn’t because I was having a breakdown, reinventing myself after a divorce, or trying to catch someone’s eye.

I did it because I wanted to.
Because I could.

The Lacanian Bangs

We women go through so much every day, yet we’re terrified of cutting our bangs — as if that would be the hardest thing we’ve ever done.

These bangs are my desire, in the full Lacanian sense.
They are not cute.

I am not following beauty.
I am saying: This is what I want. I want to look like this.

Desire is revolutionary.

You may find this unrelated to feminism, but listen to the whole story.

I Am a Feminist

I started a Spice Girls dance group at school when I was ten — I should put that on my CV. I’m proud that they became a women’s collective in 2024. (It was great being Emma back then.)

Being a woman often means having no control over your body, despite being told that you do.
The moment you deviate from the approved versions of femininity — the neat and sexy-but-not-too-sexy types — the world begins to twitch.

You’re expected to be invisible, good, and agreeable.

Let me tell you something: you don’t have to.
And it’s just hair.

Here’s the thing: it’s my body.
I have control over it.

Not society.
Not the beauty industry.

I Hate Going to the Hairdresser

I don’t like it when strangers touch my head.
I don’t like the strange conversations, the endless mirrors, or the silent judgements.
I don’t like the tiny societal rules that fill the space between “What are we doing today?” and “All done, looks great!” — even when you don’t feel like it.

The Result?

It’s exactly what I wanted.
I went for a reliable hair dye shade, but I took a bold risk with the cut.

You can see it in the photo.

Cutting my own hair is practical.
Psychoanalytical.
And it saves time. It saves money.

It’s not perfect.
It’s mine.