The last time I had a buzzcut, I was 13 years old. I am about to get one again - 40 years later.

I could write a book about my hair, femininity, defiance, hijab, self-expression, sexual assault, ownership of my body, why I dyed my hair red and why now I am cutting it all off.

It’s in here And the Buzzcut Will Be Televised

I dyed my hair red as a fuck you I survived expression of defiance after this I will miss the red. It’s been my fire. My “I am not hiding. You did not kill me. I am still here.” The buzzcut will be my way of saying I survived, too.

I love this picture that @remythequill took of me at @Abantu_ in Soweto in December. It will stand as the last festival and public speaking I did with my Fuck You I Survived Red. Onward!

The picture with my arms in casts is by Peter Hapak for Time magazine

And this is me at around 20. The book on me and hair and self expression is complicated

The thread connecting the aspects of Me in these picturesis deceptively simple: I own my body. That declaration is the core of the revolution.

The reason for the buzzcut: there is no “going back to normal” after #COVID19. I want to mark that change, transition.

When I can see my wonderful colourist Alex again, I will ask her for bright sunshine yellow to celebrate being outside and feeling the sun again!

BRIGHT!

When I had that buzzcut at 13:
- I was on vacation in Cairo. An aunt who’d come to pick us up told the other aunts that I was so ugly that my parents would have to pay a dowry to a man (not he pay it to me) because no one would want to marry me

While I was out walking with another aunt, a guy in Cairo pointed at me and told his friend “That girl was a guy and they gave her a sex change.”

So yeah. Hair.