I Learned to Stand Tall – Even Without Hair
Hello, my name is Mette, I am 27 years old, and this is the story of my hair loss:
I lost my hair for the first time in January 2011, when I was 13 years old. We had been on a weekend trip to Copenhagen. I slept the entire way home in the car, and when we pulled into the driveway, most of my hair was lying on the floor of the car.
Before the hair loss, I was the girl who styled her hair every single day. I could spend hours the evening before braiding all of it so I would have curls for school the next day. I was the center of attention at parties, I had the most roles in school plays and stood in the front row at Christmas concerts. In short, I used my hair to express myself, and I had a big personality.
When My Hair Disappeared, I Disappeared With It!
When my hair disappeared, so did my confidence. I went to the doctor, but was told that he knew a 65-year-old woman who had also lost her hair. She counted how many hairs she lost in the shower every day. Not exactly what a 13-year-old girl wants to hear. I was referred to a dermatologist and told that maybe my hair would grow back – maybe it never would.
I hid behind hats and headbands for the first six months because I was afraid of being the “weird” girl. There are no photos from that time. When summer 2011 arrived, I had to accept that my hair did grow back – just not in the same way as before. That was when I cut it short for the first time.
Growing Up as the One They Pointed At
Many years followed where bullying was part of everyday life. My classmates told the younger students that if they touched me, it would be contagious and they would lose their hair too. Every year during the Danish Cancer Society’s fundraising week, people would stop me on the street to tell me they had donated money so I could be “saved.” Again and again, I explained that I was not dying from cancer, but eventually I grew more and more angry whenever people started talking. I found peace with my horses and through being creative. When I finally got out of primary school, I wanted to get away from everything and everyone and start over.
I chose a high school far from where everyone else was going. I went in the opposite direction. There, I got my first boyfriend—even with my very short buzz cut. I made friends, and that helped me handle the stares wherever I went. I made a rule for myself: one black item of clothing per year. That meant I was only allowed to buy one piece of black clothing annually.
Owning the Stares Instead of Hiding from Them
I didn’t think I could get a wig, as no one had ever mentioned it to me or my parents. We believed it simply wasn’t an option. I was also quite stubborn and resisted every time someone brought up the idea of a wig. A typical teenager.
When I turned 18, city life and parties began. I discovered that what people didn’t dare do sober, they dared to do drunk. People touched my head without permission, and the awkward compliments came: “You’re beautiful, even without any hair.” I started looking directly into people’s eyes when they stared. I began to straighten my back and walk as if I owned the city, instead of trying to blend in. I dressed in more and more colorful outfits and wore wilder and wilder shoes. It became a coping mechanism: people noticed my clothes first, not my hair.
I began studying to become a social educator and quickly realized that it is the different, vulnerable individuals I want to work with—the children who struggle, who are excluded, like I was. I want to be the adult I myself needed when I was a child in school.
The Choice I Didn’t Know I Had
By summer 2024, I started thinking about getting a wig. What do you need to do to get one? Can I receive a subsidy? A lovely colleague encouraged me to try—what could go wrong? So I applied for a medical subsidy for a wig.
The application was approved, and suddenly the possibilities felt endless. The only thing I was sure of was that I did not want to be blonde. I was afraid I would look like little thirteen-year-old Mette again. On my 27th birthday, I visited Toftild for the first time, with my boyfriend Magnus by my side. I tried every hair color, but quickly realized I had to let go of my fear of a blonde wig—it simply looked the best.
It took some time for my family to adjust to the hair. My stepdaughter preferred that I went without a wig for quite a while. I even attended a big family party where it took people three hours to realize who I was. New questions and comments followed: “Why a wig?” “But Mette, you’ve always been without hair—that’s just how you look,” and so on.
I have now worn a wig for a year, and it feels wonderful. I can go to work without 100 children telling me I’m bald. I can go to the shopping mall without people whispering behind their hands. I am still open about living with hair loss, and I always answer questions—but it’s easier when it’s not the same 10 questions every single day. And I’ve regained the joy of styling and braiding hair again.
