The Strands of Me
March 29, 2024
Writer: Anushi Varma
Editor: Lexie Meltzer
Almost fifteen years ago, I was a little girl in elementary school sporting the classic chunky bangs of the early 2000s—a rite of passage for many young girls back then. My best friend at the time, in contrast to myself, was and still is bald. As a girl with alopecia, a condition causing hair loss, this was not a temporary style for her. While for some, alopecia may result in thinning hair or bald patches, for my friend, it meant having no hair at all. Yet, what she lacked in hair, she made up for with the most contagious sense of humor, and we all embraced her positive attitude toward her alopecia. Class trips were never dull, like the one to the Field Museum in Chicago, where she let a live tarantula walk on her head to the amazement of us kids. Her adventurous spirit and high energy not only made me happy to be her best friend but also inspired me to experiment with my appearance too.
In middle school, my friend began experimenting with wigs. She told me about how the wigs were made from hair donations, sometimes made after someone gets a hefty chop. There was even a mannequin head to prop the wig she would wear to school (naturally, we would get distracted and play around with the mannequin instead of using it to hold up her wig). In high school, her wigs would change in length, style, and color, coinciding with my own changes to my hair.
After much anticipation, I decided to get a balayage treatment, transforming my hair into a chocolate blend of black and brown. I grew my hair out, got curtain bangs, and my parents were taken aback by the dramatic change in my appearance. I wasn't bothered by others’ opinions – I relished feeling reinvented and enjoyed the fluidity of my own appearance every time I looked in the mirror. For about four years, I routinely went back to re-dye my hair, fine-tuning the blend of colors and adjusting the length of my layers and bangs. I would trim my bangs from chin to eye length and try heatless curl methods to freshen my look.
Whether it was a drastic trim or a color refresher, I felt more confident after every hair appointment. Changing my hair became a way to accentuate the person I wanted to be: someone comfortable in her own skin. It was my way of claiming my identity. Driving to the salon and describing the look I wanted empowered me because I knew I had the ability to design and redesign myself at will. Hair became my magic wand, adding pizzazz and sparkle whenever I desired.
Recently, I dyed my hair back to its original color. Now, I've reached a point in my life where I find magic in the shade I was born with. From black to brown to blonde and back to black, I feel grounded through all these changes. Like the stages of colors my hair went through, I’ve simultaneously gone through stages of life—experiencing homecoming dances, getting my driver’s license, graduating high school, and my first day of college. Just as with every strand, I grow and shed parts of myself, but at the end of the day, I, as a person, remain fully present.
The joy of exploring and diversifying my appearance is something I cherish deeply. I love using creativity to express and care for myself. My childhood best friend still experiments with her hair color, and I do the same. Our hairstyles mark the twists and turns of life we've navigated, but they also demonstrate how proudly we've held onto and showcased our identity to those around us. My hair, my body, is what makes me who I am, and I couldn't be more grateful to be the person I am under all the different colors, cuts, and styles of hair that mark my individuality.
