J A N E @janebelfry
Should’ve won the Emmy for Sharp Objects, elite ginger queen.
Incredible actress, sartorial legend, definitely not a fake ging.
Glamorous, classic, crimson-headed OG.
Invented comedy, icon.
Jessica Chastain/Bryce Dallas Howard
Slightly interchangeable (shouts to Who Weekly) but two big contributors to the ginger economy nonetheless.
**bonus cartoon round**
Inspiration for my entire existence, tbh.
Name a better bob, i’ll WAIT!
Perfect for au natural or post wax care for bikini area under arms etc. Honestly just love adding a new beauty ritual to our routines. Bonus points for glam packaging
Soulfood is a super nourishing mask, it’s saving our flakey winter scalps :,( and the hairspray is truly the best smelling one out there (the proof is in the constant compliments)
Shampoo not pictured because it’s literally gone. This checks all my boxes, effective, clean as hell (no sulfates for me ever, thanks dermatitis) and light enough for every day. Will 100% reorder
After making a major life change aka going through a breakup, I wanted a physical change to mark my new beginning. Bangs always looked so impossibly chic on the right person—namely, French supermodels and people with an effortlessly laidback style. I’m not in either of those camps, but buzzed off of my new singledom, I decided that, sure, a Tuesday afternoon was the perfect time to find a complete stranger to chop off the front sections of my hair and make them into a “style.” I wouldn’t even have to do my hair, I thought to myself smugly. I’d always look put together in a messy-chic way. I might start biking to work and going to the Farmer’s Market. Look the fuck out, world.
Unfortunately, as I sat down in Cindy’s chair (name has been changed to protect the identity of this butcher) and she began to ask me questions, I could immediately tell I had made a terrible decision. As she chopped an awkward chunky portion out of the front section of my hair and asked “something like that?” a deeply unsettling feeling crept in my stomach. Was this woman asking me how to cut my hair? She kept asking questions as she went, similar to a lover asking if I’d finished. Um, no Cindy. I did not. And it’s clear you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.
She cut, and cut, and I was unsatisfied. “Well,” I stammered uncomfortably, “I was thinking more like the picture…I showed you…at the beginning.” The one of the French supermodel? WHY DON’T I LOOK LIKE A FRENCH SUPERMODEL, CINDY? When it was over, and I reluctantly paid for my $80 mistake, I was in a panic. These were not the bangs of someone making a new beginning for herself; these were the bangs of an extra in Girl, Interrupted. And it wasn’t just in my head; I received the sort of head tilt and “aw” responses that people get when things really are as fucked up as you suspect they are.
Sure, most things in life are more important than the way your hair looks—I get that. But there was something a little unsettling about the fact that I had hoped for a beautiful change and wound up feeling uncomfortable, awkward, and straight up ignorant. (Never again, Cindy.) A therapist once told me that the reason we want to make these drastic changes to our appearance or daily routine when we go through a change is because it subconsciously teaches us to live with discomfort. People cut their hair, they start changing up their routine, they wear their watch on a different hand. Small, insignificant, almost wispy things—like my bangs—that sometimes we hope can symbolize something much bigger.
The way those bangs felt on my face served as a pesky little reminder that the more you obsess about your mistakes, the bigger they can feel. So I pinned them back, started wearing headbands around the house, and popped some hair growth vitamins while I marinated in my own decisions. The desire to start fresh and live a new life is healthy and real—but you don’t have to pay good money to get a shitty haircut in the process.
Eventually, my bangs began to grow back, and my regular hair stylist was able to help me make the transition look slightly more normal. “You’re not allowed to do this again, though,” she reminded me gently, as she trimmed the short pieces of hair into more palatable shapes. I couldn’t promise her I’d never go back to bangs, but I did promise that the next time I thought about letting a stranger take a misplaced chunk out of my hair over my lunch hour I’d dial my therapist instead.
By: Nyeemah, Digital Media/Marketing Director at Erase Spa @erasespa
It’s your body - you decide how you like to keep things “down there” or anywhere! Yes, I'm referring to body hair, and here to dismiss all the common myths you've heard when it comes to laser hair removal and women of color. This is the hairy truth:
Yes, it’s safe! And hell yeah, it works! People with darker complexions, myself included, have been discouraged from trying out laser hair removal because it was once believed that it could damage our skin. Thanks to newer technology, and an overall push towards inclusion in the beauty industry, it's completely safe. Avoid facilities that tell you " it won’t work" - that simply means that they do not have the right equipment to treat you safely and efficiently.
Here at Erase Spa, we have the YAG laser that caters to medium to dark skin tones. Unlike threading , waxing, and/or tweezing, this is less painful and takes up way less time. You may feel some discomfort when the laser zaps the hair follicle but it’s nothing unbearable. Trust me you'll be totally against any of those alternatives once you try this out! It even helps reduce the appearance of ingrowns. It's a game changer! You'll start noticing it right away. Seriously you will see some of the hairs fallout after just one visit! The best part is that you can regulate how much you’d like to remove. If you want to thin it out, shape it up, or go bare. We've got you covered!
Lastly - Don’t assume that the rules about sun exposure and antibiotics don’t apply to us. They still do! So listen closely to your technician and follow their recommendations if you decide to go through with it.
By: Taylor Twohy (@thetaylor2know)
For most of my life, I have been defined by long brown waves, coarse as nettles, with more secrets than Gretchen Wieners. For most of my life, if you asked me what my best physical feature was, I would say my hair.
As a toddler, people would comment to my mother about my ringlets, asking her if she curled it. (She absolutely did not). Through elementary school, I sported LOTS of volume and equally voluminous bows (it’s Texas, after all). In middle school, I dyed my hair for the first time, opening a Pandora’s box of cheap plastic gloves and Clairol color. In high school, I would put my hair in hot rollers for hours while I did homework or watched Grey’s Anatomy, just to wake up with perfect chestnut waves. Through college and my mid twenties, I continued to play with color. Mostly DIY. Mostly mistakes. Balayage. Henna. And my piece de resistance, creating a purple ombre in my bathroom that eventually became blue. I grew tired of it and turned to my good friend Clairol for chestnut hair once more.
After years of box dye and bleach in the bathroom, I felt sad for my mossy hay hair, and envious of the lustrous locks I saw all over social media. Split ends were well marketed through the 90s as the bane of the hair world. How could I restore clean bouncy (preferably brown) hair without a ton of bottles and jars of fake “magic serums”? I posed the same question to a new stylist, and left with a lob. My hair felt incredibly soft, and looked incredibly cool, and I felt good about myself. I thought, if I can feel this euphoria after cutting off 5 inches, imagine how I would feel after ANOTHER five inches off. As a plus size/curvy/fat woman, I had been told this could be a disaster, but I did have several pixie styles “pinned” for months. On April 27, 2018, I sat in a salon chair and watched so much hair fall to the floor. When it was all over, I could not process regret. I was on a high! I did it! This thing that I had mostly silently wondered about for years was done and I felt new.
The public response was overwhelmingly in favor. I was suddenly, undeniably posh. I was joyfully living my full Peter Pan fantasy, until about six weeks after my drastic chop, I got laid off. I was devastated and extremely lost. I didn’t have my job and I didn’t have my hair. I was struggling to find my identity amongst unemployment and an awkward grow out period; I began to grow my hair out almost immediately. But despite all of the whiny polls I have posted on instagram, I realized I still didn't regret the decision. It helped me to define my queer identity and to evaluate the ways outside forces have influenced my understanding of beauty, my understanding of me. I needed this haircut. I needed to realize how much I love myself, hair or no hair.
by Rõgan Graham
Sometimes I catch myself playing with the sharp hairs that grow from my chin when I lie in bed watching movies. Some days I wonder why they’re there, some days I wonder why I have to get rid of them.
I had suspected I had polycystic ovarian syndrome when I was 14 and had seen something on the television about symptoms being ‘excessive body hair’ and ‘difficulty losing weight’. I remember pulling down my pyjama top and looking at the four thick black hairs growing between my boobs. I was diagnosed later that year via an ultrasound, the nurse told me my cysts were latent so I could still have children, and I was sent on my way. I remember the relief I felt at 14 that my womanly purpose could still be fulfilled, looking back, I resent that that’s all they thought mattered.
Later, in my teen years after hair bleaching and relaxing, I committed the infamous big chop. To grow my hair faster, I bulk bought some biotin on eBay and relished the praise I was getting for the speed it grew. Quickly, the four chest hairs multiplied, and peach fuzz became stubble. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was inflaming my PCOS and developing Hirsutism. I carried on taking it for two more years.
At 17, I was haemorrhaging my babysitting change on weekly full face threading and body waxes, threading that left my face in bumps like acne. Over four years I had gone through phases of threading, waxing, bleaching, hair removal creams, shaving and hundreds of pounds of laser treatments that would never work because I didn’t get to the root of the problem. These treatments left my skin red raw, spotty and bruised, I didn’t feel better because the hair was no longer there, I just thought that I should.
As women, we are relentlessly sold products to improve our outsides (in hopes of making us feel good inside.) Access to information about how to maintain or control our hormonal health is typically limited to the rich/privileged, the rest of us rely on band-aids to life altering problems – whether that be confidence issues, mental health problems or big timeinternal damage.
Women with excessive facial hair are not wrong, womanhood and the narrow scope of femininity don’t have to be inextricably linked.
For my 21st birthday I asked for an appointment with a naturopath, they’re pricey and I couldn’t justify saving weeks of waitressing wages for one appointment. The petite blonde lady with lots of beads and a homemade mug, filled with hot herbal tea, connected all the dots for me. Blonde Beads instilled in me that, like with everything in life, you have to get right on the inside for anything else to make sense, that ‘I am whole, worthy, perfect and complete’ just as I am and that once the core work is done, everything else can fall into place.
I still have facial hair. I drink spearmint tea every day to lower my testosterone levels and slow hair growth, and get waxes every two weeks. The days after the wax my face smells like E45 to avoid the bumps forming and I exfoliate more often than most people to prevent ingrown hairs.
Some days I pull a scarf up to my face or skip class so people don’t see the hairs poking through my concealer, some days I put on red lipstick and no base make up and walk around like I’m Frida Kahlo. I’m happy I have the choice to.
Book recommendations for women dealing with PCOS:
Woman Code by Alisa Vitti
The Balance Plan by Angelique Panagos
You Can Heal Your Life by Louise Hay (general self care)