Bye Baby Lemme Fix My Weave
My OG Julia and I give credit to our ex-boyfriends back in 2013, for planting the seed of our now gorgeous orchid of a friendship. Our beau's were close friends and work buddies, so when they introduced us and saw us bond, a fabulous quartet was established. When the time came for me to end my relationship with my man, the transition was rough, as anticipated. We were together for over a year and had really created a life together of friends, our regular spots and family familiarity. The following week of my split, I was getting ready for a night out and I thought, Damn - I wish I could call up Julia, but that’s weird because she’s with my ex’s best friend, right? I rang her anyways because of all people she would understand girl code and be my wing woman. As soon as I got her on the hotline bling, she confessed to me, “Look, Olivia, I should tell you before we see each other - I broke up with my man…” Basically, the telepathic connection was so strong between two Julia’s, that we broke up with our beau’s the same day without informing each other. We show up at the club, our first night out together as a duet, and both with brand new weaves. Cut and color.
Why do women change their hair when we go through a tough break up? I understand not all women. But let’s be real - most. I will be first to stand up. My name is Olivia, and I always change my hair after a break up. You could show me pictures of myself in random order, spanning over the last six years and I could tell you exactly which boy I was spending my nights with. But I will use, probably my hardest break up, as the centerfold illustration.
I found myself living with my boyfriend for a couple of months one summer in West London. Every day telling myself that it was wonderful and we were happy - but we were definitely not. One Monday, our landlord informed us that she had decided to sell her house, which meant we had one week to heave-ho and move out. We searched frantically to find a flat for a couple in the following days, but London real estate is incredibly difficult, so he crashed at a friends place and I did the same until we could find somewhere together. After moving out, he ghosted me for two days while we were apart, then broke up with me at a cafe on the third day, informing me he had already found a place to live for himself while I was still searching for us. I was devastated. Dumped, no place to live, quite honestly blind sided by how my life was flipped upside down in one week. Between us there was a long history and we had broken up twice before, so I told myself as I was hauling my shit around the city, You crazy bitch! Third time’s a charm. LET IT GO. So what is the first thing I did? I called my badass German hairdresser in Shoreditch to schedule an appointment. We vented about men while drinking coffee from my favorite Canadian shop across the street, and three hours later I emerged a different woman. I went from being bright blonde with extensions down my back, to a dark and dirty blonde bob. Next, I walked around the corner to the off streets of Brick Lane, down the stairs to a basement where a lady worked her magic on giving me my first set of eyelash extensions. Then I marched over to Spitalfields Market where MAC hooked me up with my new make up kit. I went home, poured myself a whiskey, closed the bathroom door behind me as I walked in, took a deep breath and stared at myself in the mirror.
Hair is a very intruiging part of our anatomy. Hair causes great insecurities and confidence, it type casts you, it pushes you into a stereotype, it is a stress, it’s a hiding place, it’s an attention seeker. Hair is ultimately the book cover that you’re told not to judge the inside of the book by. It is a massive component of your identity.
When I went through my break up, I had to break up with a part of myself as well. The part of me that felt weakened by being subordinate in this relationship. When I caught a glimpse in the mirror of myself unpacking my life, that I had tried so hard to make work with this man whom I loved, all I could see was my sadness. I saw the shell of the girl who had been dumped and kept crying wondering why he couldn’t love me back. My identity had shifted because of what had transpired and I did not want to be this sad girl who had her heart broken. I am a Hussey! I have no time for that shit. My identity needed to shift again to reflect the woman I knew I had to become in order to move on and continue climbing my ladder.
As I held myself sturdy, leaning in on my bathroom sink opposite the mirror, I felt uncomfortable. I questioned my new appearance and myself. I thought of what he would think if he saw the new me. But this wasn't about him anymore. So I continued staring and allowed my eyes to search deeper. Sure enough, a smile crept on my face as I found the Hussey inside of me. She became very excited about my new do, because somehow this felt like a new beginning. Like I had washed the slate clean. I made a choice to move forward and push past what I had been through. Changing my hair was the catalyst to catapult forward.
I have this short film type scenario that I visualize when my mind starts to wander back to the what if of a previous relationship. It makes me feel so cool and bangin' because it's all in slow motion, obviously. Feel free to use it for yourself if you need a boost... I'm strutting away from having just left a pile of luggage behind me, the wind is strong and is blowing scarves and clothes out of the abandoned bags. I tug a long blonde wig off of my head and shake my hair underneath wild and free, tossing the old away as if it's the last little bit of my previous disguise. I put on my Ray Ban aviators with a smile because there is no need to look back, the light is in front of me and that's where my focus is. On she goes to the next one with determination and no more distraction. PS - I'm wearing thigh high black suede boots with a vintage black mini boustier dress topped with a Burberry trench.
