Participating in fashion and beauty as a bald woman is daunting—but moving past the initial fear has totally changed my perspective on femininity.

I lost all my hair when I was 18, and again at 19, due to my autoimmune condition, alopecia. Since then, I have worn wigs provided to me by the amazing charity The Little Princess Trust. Naturally, my experience with alopecia has been marked by many ups and downs. In the beginning, I grappled with ill-fitting hair pieces, itchy wig caps, and most uncomfortably, the heavy feeling of being stared at when I chose to go without a wig in public.

I reminded myself that their eyes were only looking with natural curiosity at an unusual sight. Of course, in doing this, I was subconsciously asserting to myself that I was exactly that—an unusual sight.

In many ways, it’s true that I am. Although alopecia affects about one-third of all women at some point in their lives, the number of girls dealing with it in their twenties is very small. Subconsciously, as a teenager, I suppose I had always linked my identity as a woman with my hair—and with every clump of it that slid down the drain in the shower, so with it went my femininity.

What intensified my isolation was the fact that women with alopecia—or women with any sort of physical attribute differing from the norm—are scarcely represented in the media, in fashion, or anywhere. I felt totally abnormal, ashamed, and even ugly. I coped by wearing my wigs all the time to avoid those upsetting feelings brought on by simply being myself in public.

Eventually, I got fed up with hiding away, and I decided to be the representation I was looking for. For every "outfit of the day" picture I posted on Instagram, I added a version of it without my wig. I started showing up to uni bald, doing my best to ignore the prickly stares of my peers and professors—who likely had no idea of my condition.

At this point, I felt strongly that I wanted my baldness not to be the main feature of my appearance, but rather, something like an accessory to it. I experimented with much bolder makeup looks—heavy eyeshadow, face piercings, the lot… especially earrings. Earrings are extremely important when you are bald!

And I had so much fun with it, discovering that self-expression wasn’t something I’d lost down the drain with my hair, but rather something I was just beginning to explore. Each morning at my dressing table became an opportunity to try something new—be it leaning into the drama of a smoky eye, the sass of a beauty mark, the cutesiness of excessive blush…

As time went on, I felt less like I was compensating for my broken femininity, and more like I was nurturing the growth of a new femininity—one not bound to hair, but instead rooted in creativity, confidence, and control.

I saw a mutual friend of mine at a house party last week, and what she said really stuck with me:

“Oh, you’re the cool bald girl!”

I had always hoped I was cool despite being bald. I had never before thought that I could be cool because I was bald.

My personal mission is to help expand the beauty standard to include those like me—who look different than we may expect them to. An ambitious mission indeed, and doubtless shared by many.

I want to showcase that femininity is not one rigid idea or standard, but a celebration of our unique stories, which we each bring to the stage.

Discovering the work Alopecia UK do in recent years has meant a lot to me. Finding  a community, advocacy, and support for people like me makes a real difference—especially for younger people who might be going through the hardest part of their journey. In reading others’ stories and sharing my own, I have found power, knowing that they’re being uplifted, represented, and heard.