During my late teens, I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the hairdresser. Due to my hair’s horrific condition (19-year-old me had never heard of a hair mask), any inch taken off my ends was a tragedy because it never grew back. Slowly but surely, my length got shorter and shorter and I resented anyone coming near me with a pair of scissors if my split ends were their target.

Thankfully, I finally gave my hair what it needed and prioritised health above all else. The result? It started to grow, and hairdressers were no longer my enemy. Fast-forward almost a decade, and going to the hairdresser is now a luxury I look forward to – ironically, now that time is in short supply, I don’t get to go as regularly as I’d like.

I’d focused so much on my hair’s condition and colour (I’ve been a redhead for nearly two years now) that I realised that I hadn’t really deviated from saying anything more adventurous than “Just a quick trim will do” to my stylist. This meant I was in a bit of a hair rut when it came to its shape and length.

“I was in a hair rut, so I let a stylist pick my haircut – here’s what happened”