“Oh, god,” I wail from the bedroom on a mild September afternoon.
She’s worried I’m in pain, and Isuuuuperam, but that’s not why I’m crying.
It’s my hair.
Illustration by Niege Borges
A big curly bunch of it scrunched up in my weakened fist.
My body is a failure, I thought.
One of the smaller clumps of hair I found at the bottom of my drain once post-shampoo.
One of the smaller clumps of hair I found at the bottom of my drain once post-shampoo. Cute, right?
So did my gynecologist, despite my vocal concerns about the shedding.
She immediately pinpointed the problem: Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) and my IUD.
This is a screenshot from a video interview I did in July.
This is a screenshot from a video interview I did in July. At the crown of my head, you can see pretty clearly where my hair was thinning most.
By “body image,” I don’t mean whether or not I feel beautiful.
It signifies a loss of control over your own body.
My body has been too big to fit into standard clothing sizes.
Me in late November after a couple of months of Rogaine and a dramatic haircut.
It’s also, at times, been too thin to fit into the plus-size community.
Too tall for my male crushes to look in my direction without cowering.
Me in late November after a couple of months of Rogaine and a dramatic haircut.
Most of all, I get that having to apply minoxidil every single day is so fucking inconvenient.
In case they might help you, too, here they are.
