My mother – the lovely, gorgeous woman who carried me for nine months, birthed me after what I can only assume was an exhausting ordeal and has continued to house, feed and emotionally support me well into adulthood – didn’t even hesitate when she called me ugly. Well, in reality, she called the haircut I wanted ugly. A small distinction, sure, but one that felt negligible in the moment. ‘No,’ she said, frowning at my collection of Pinterest screenshots. ‘That’s ugly.’ The haircut in question sat somewhere between a micro-fringe and baby bangs. Short and choppy; gamine and soft. And because asking for her approval came from seeking her validation, the certainty of her response disappointed me. Not because I disagreed, but because I understood what she meant. The haircut choice wasn’t ugly in the literal sense; it just violates a set of unwritten rules about how women are supposed to look (think: long, pretty hair). Ah, the politics of conventional – or rather, unconventional – beauty. Now, I wish I could tell you that her reaction only strengthened my resolve and that I immediately booked my appointment and strode confidently towards freeing self-expression. But the reality was far less heroic. For days afterwards, I was hesitant. If my own mother thought it was ugly, what would everyone else think? If a haircut is just a haircut, why did it feel like it mattered so much? The obsession with flattering Beauty psychotherapist Nino Sopromadze tells me that our desire to seek flattering looks often has less to do with aesthetics and more to do with survival. ‘The instinct [to look stereotypically attractive] comes from a need for belonging, connection and social acceptance,’ she explains. ‘We learn very early on that being accepted by others can feel safe, while criticism can feel threatening.’ In other words, it isn’t just about looking nice. It’s about avoiding rejection. A light bulb moment for a girl who fears it. And, suddenly, my panic about a fringe feels less ridiculous. ‘Hair is one of the first ways we are read by others,’ Sopromadze adds. ‘Changing it can feel psychologically exposing.’ It also occupies a uniquely vulnerable place in our identities. Unlike an outfit, you can’t take it off at the end of the day; unlike makeup, you can’t quickly wash it away. It sits permanently on your head, broadcasting information about you before you’ve even opened your mouth. So, perhaps that’s why unconventional haircuts provoke such strong reactions. The lens of desirability The internet has developed an entire category for the phenomenon of unconventional beauty. Everything from ‘anti-male gaze makeup’ to ‘boy-repellent haircuts’ and micro-fringes – as well as mullets and buzzcuts, to name a few – is regularly filed under this same umbrella; they’re beauty choices supposedly incapable of attracting heterosexual men. Increasingly, though, said labels are being worn as badges of honour. Jadah Dale, founder of Studio Studios salon in Shoreditch, has seen these styles increase in popularity. ‘I think part of it has to do with the internet and the amount of support that women receive from each other,’ she says. ‘Styles like baby bangs, mullets and bleached brows have so much personality and edge. They can feel incredibly hot and powerful in a way that is more for us.’ Key phrase: for us! Because calling something a ‘boy-repellent haircut’ reveals an assumption that beauty’s primary purpose is attraction from men specifically. The implication, then, is that if a style doesn’t appeal to men, it has somehow failed. But what if that isn’t the objective? What if beauty isn’t a performance designed for universal approval? What if we simply like the style for us? And look, I get it – I’ve used such phrases myself. They’re usually deployed with a little wink-nudge, so maybe it’s time to retire the terminology altogether? Even when we’re rejecting male approval, we’re still positioning it as the thing we’re responding to. These shouldn’t be deemed ‘boy-repellent’ styles. They’re haircuts that prioritise self-expression over universal appeal. Defining ugliness Rachael Gibson, better known online as The Hair Historian, points out that the politics of ugliness dates back hundreds of years – the problem with ugliness is that it’s rarely neutral. Historically, women’s hair has always been tied to social control. When women in the 1920s began cutting their hair into a short bob, the reaction was pure scandal. ‘Some lost jobs, others [were] criticised by family members,’ she says. However, the haircut wasn’t controversial because it looked bad, but because it symbolised independence. And at that time, independence for women was radical. Ugly, even. Then came the cropped flapper look. The Afro during the Black Is Beautiful movement. Sinéad O’Connor’s shaved head. Riot Grrrl’s deliberately messy DIY haircuts. The mullet’s enduring popularity within queer communities. Again and again, hairstyles threaten the status quo when they disrupt expectations. What’s fascinating is that many of these styles are eventually absorbed into the mainstream. What begins as ugly often ends up fashionable. The issue isn’t aesthetics; it’s conformity. This idea sits at the heart of Nathalie Olah’s Bad Taste: Or The Politics Of Ugliness. Throughout, Olah argues that taste isn’t merely personal preference but a social system tied to power, class and belonging. Taste often functions as a form of ‘status anxiety’, she writes. When we dismiss something as ugly, tacky or even cringeworthy, we’re often making a judgement about people associated with it. Do you care about fitting in? Do you care about being considered attractive? Do you care about following the rules? The beauty industry rarely encourages us to ask these questions. It’s much easier to sell products by presenting attractiveness as an objective goal. But as Olah points out, beauty standards are not universal truths. They are agreements; cultural constructions maintained by repetition and repeated exposure. The compliment paradox A few weeks of contemplation after the chat with my mum, and I watch chunks of hair fall onto a black cape. Plunge equals taken. Confrontational cut equals sorted. Yet, despite actively choosing this style, when I debuted my fringe on Instagram, I checked my notifications far more than on a normal day. I wanted reassurance. Eek. I wanted compliments. Eek again. I wanted people to tell me I’d made the right decision. Ee – you get the point. And when they did, I felt relieved. But what kind of rejection of beauty standards still requires external validation? Nino Sopromadze doesn’t necessarily see self-expression and validation as opposing forces. ‘We are relational beings,’ she says. ‘Wanting compliments does not necessarily mean we are being inauthentic.’ I guess the distinction, instead, lies in whether approval is the goal or simply a pleasant by-product. Because, despite our talk of rebellion, very few of us genuinely want to be disliked (or thought of as ugly). Life is tough enough already – you don’t need me to tell you that. The real challenge isn’t becoming immune to validation; it’s learning to tolerate the possibility of disapproval. The fringe has now grown out slightly. It’s less severe than it was on day one. Less shocking. Yet I find myself looking to book in for a refresh. Not because it’s the best haircut I’ve had (it is, but that’s beside the point), but because of what it has taught me: beauty isn’t nearly as objective as we’re led to believe; attractiveness and self-expression aren’t always aligned; taste is often just conformity dressed up in discernment. And, sometimes, the most liberating thing you can do is choose something not because everyone will like it, but because some people won’t. Including your mum. As Dale so aptly puts it: ‘Get the haircut!’ Follow Lia on Instagram.
