That's Why Her Hair's So Big...

I have always been a firm believer that a good hair do is pretty much paramount to maintaining personal happiness levels. Partly because of the fact that I went to an all girls school, but mostly because of the fact that my mum is a hairdresser- hair is important.

I've always had a lot of hair. When I was little it was a curse. My hair was think and wavy and knotty and for some reason I spent most of primary school with it in a low ponytail which only further highlighted that my face is was round it was practically a planet. As a grew up it became the thing I loved most about myself. At one point my mum also cut it into a bob, so short she may as well have just sheered it all off and no, she still isn't entirely forgiven (who lets a five year old decide what's good for them?! I'm 21 and I still don't know what's good for me!)

Something about me was braver when it came to my hair- I didn't care what other people thought. I started colouring it at 10 (my mum had brightly coloured hair throughout most of my childhood so she really couldn't have said no) and it went on from there. In Year 9, I was threaten with suspension because the block of red running through my mane did not stick to the 'natural hair colour only' rule my all girls school enforced. Then, at 16, I went from brunette to redhead and never looked back.
It's been blue and yellow and purple, and orange and red and brown and it never scared me. Whilst other parts of my appearance have always seems like an uphill struggle (my skin, my stomach, my inability to have at high gap), I've always been at one with my hair- even if I have been ripping a brush through it and praying I'd wake up with it naturally pin straight (still no such luck).

Now my hair is pink. After a year of doing nothing but excruciatingly question each tiny decision I have made and not knowing myself from one day to the next- I finally feel like I'm being to regain control of me.

Between graduating, booking my trip, starting my internship, and the new hair; I guess I'm starting to see bits of myself I thought I'd lost forever.

So fuck it. Maybe this is narcissistic and shallow as hell, but I don't care. This is an appreciation post for my hair. It makes me feel good about myself and it reminds me to always be a bit braver and a bit bolder. Who knows, maybe if we all started appreciating the parts of ourselves we truly love a little more- loving all the slightly less great bits will become less of a battle.

-xo

Oh...Tits!

Ah, the daily papers. Filled with news from around the globe, celebrity gossip, the weather forecasts, important political views and boobs.

Wait, what?!

Ah yes, if you are British, female and a regular reader of the paper then you probably already know what I'm talking about. In fact, you don't even have to be a female, you could be male, cat, dog or mouse and you've probably already picked up on what I'm chatting about. That's right, Page 3.

Now, before I go any further I am just going to state right here and right now that I LIKE BOOBS. No, this isn't me coming out of the closest, I'm just saying that glamour modelling itself isn't something I disagree with. Nor am I against sex, people that have sex, people that watch porn. people that buy lads mags, sexy underwear or newspapers. For crying out loud, I'm 19 years old! Of course I like sex and underwear and my first year flat was famous for our kitchen wall quite loving decorated with Nuts magazine cut outs. I just don't feel it necessary to have boobs in a newspaper. 

Boobs aren't news, they're just not.  They didn't just appear on planet earth, they've been around for awhile now and well, they're just not news!

That is why I was over the moon when a fantastic writer and friend of mine, invited me to be part of the No More Page 3 Campaign, started when during the Olympics she noticed that even though Jessica Ennis had just secured the hopes of the nation in winning gold in her Heptathlon event, the largest image of any female in The Sun was still the day's Page 3 girl. 

I mean, it's almost laughable, a women who has put her heart and soul into 4 years of training for ONE event, who was made the face of the London 2012 games which have, arguably, been the most successful games to date, still isn't worth as much page space as a girl who has her boobs out. Brilliant. The Suffragettes are probably turning in their graves, spitting feathers and thinking to themselves 'Well, what was the bloody point?!'

And it's true, what was the point? I'm not going to start burning my bra or join some strong Feminist rebellion, but let's be honest here, isn't it just a little bit rubbish that women are still being portrayed as items of sexual desire in a FAMILY newspaper? At least Nuts and Zoo and Maxim and Playboy dedicate entire magazines to us. At least with them it really is an industry, a career. Page 3 just seems out dated, sexist and more than anything, silly. We don't need boobs in The Sun. Honestly, we really don't. I can almost promise it won't affect the paper's sales and that it won't affect the way people take in the news. 

Getting rid of Page 3 will help promote women in a far healthier light and at the end of the day it's not like we get the torso of Dave, 21, from South Shields on Page 5 do we? IT'S A SHEER LACK EQUALITY HERE PEOPLE!

So, let's be equal and let's change the papers of tomorrow. Please sign the petition and spread the word because actually, I really believe in this campaign and it's ability to change the tabloids for the better.

Sign here: http://www.change.org/nomorepage3

- Hayley xx