A new woman

Diana Thomas’s transgender diary

Oh my God. Oh. My. God! OMIGOD!! I have an actual hair appointment!!!

In fact, I have it so soon that by the time you read these words I will (cross fingers, touch wood, pray to the heavens) have had lovely, tight, readjusted weaves and extensions for more than a week.

And it all hapbecause pened my friend Sarah, who had her hair installed at the Lucinda Ellery salon on the same day as me, in the adjacent chair, pinged me on Facebook Messenger late one evening. And

I just happened to be online… having a really teeth-grinding, headbanging, makes-youwant-to-scream political argument with her husband. Small world, eh? Anyway, Sarah mentioned, in a not-remotely swanky way, that she was having her hair fixed at a date and time in the very near future. I valiantly restrained the urge to call her a jammy this and a cheeky that, took a calming deep breath, and typed back something along the lines of, ‘Wow! How did you get that? I thought they were still closed!’

It turned out that LE had successfully applied for recognition as an essential service, on the grounds that they dealt with women who had suffered significant hair loss, and whose hairpieces were not just matters of vanity, but were vital for their appearance and self-confidence. Their salons were thus able to open a month or so earlier than the Governjuly ment date of 4 (at the earliregular est) for hairdressers. This news had not yet been posted on the comwebsite. pany But as Sarah now revealed, customers were discreetly being contacted in order of the length of time since their last adjustment. As regular readwill ers know, time is an issue here. The ‘intralis ace system’ attached to one’s own hair. The longer that hair grows, the more the intralace loosens. The recomtime mended between adjustments, when they retighten the whole cabooweeks. dle, is six Some of us were past three months. Seriously, my scalp and my hair were in two different postcodes. It made perfect sense that the company was keeping things quiet. That way, staff could calmly deal with the neediest customers first, without being deluged by frenzied females screaming for an appointment. Clearly it was my duty to bide my time and wait my turn.

The hell with that. I instantly sent a frenzied email to the salon, screaming for an appointment.

Miraculously, there was one free. It was at 9am. And the reason it was free was that Sarah had turned it down, preferring a more agreeable lunchtime slot.

I wasn’t so choosy. I grabbed that solitary appointment like a Titanic passenger spotting an unoccupied lifeboat. And I am now plunging myself into absolute, total, supermega-ultra-isolation in the hope of staying virus-free until the great day.

Before then, however, one quick word for anyone who might, quite naturally, be thinking, ‘This is all outrageous! Why are all these bald women getting hairdos when I can’t?’

The first thing is, we’re not actually getting hairdos. There’s no cutting, styling or colouring allowed. It’s just the readjustment of our hairpieces so that they fit nice and tight to the scalp. But more to the point, this really is essential.

I’m always going on about how I’m never just trying to look good. First, I have to look female. And before I can hope to convince anyone else, I have to convince myself.

That’s been getting harder the longer the lockdown goes on. I’m the last person who needs reminding that there are more important things to worry about right now than a transwoman’s insecurities. But the fact remains, without the treatments I rely upon, the signs of my old maleness keep fighting their way back on to my body.

I can joke about having stubble on my top lip and say I look like Adolf in drag. But in truth it’s no joke. I hate it and it wrecks my confidence.

The same thing applies, to a lesser degree, to all women who lose their hair. This isn’t about vanity but personal identity. If a woman’s hair starts disappearing, she can feel as though her femininity’s diminishing too. With a full, convincing head of hair again, it’s much easier to feel fully female.

So when my salon told the powers that be that they provided an essential service, they really weren’t kidding.

I wasn’t so choosy. I grabbed that solitary appointment like a Titanic passenger spotting an unoccupied lifeboat