You do not need permission to look like yourself

The bob came back.

Again.

And honestly, I shouldn't even be surprised anymore because trends do what trends have always done. They disappear for ten years, reinvent themselves slightly, come back wearing a different outfit and suddenly act like we've never met before.

But what fascinated me wasn't actually the bob itself.

It was Margot Robbie.

Because the second Margot Robbie cut a bob, Pinterest searches exploded. Bob searches exploded. Women everywhere collectively went:

"Oh my God should I cut my hair?"

"Could I pull off a bob?"

"Do we think I could do shorter hair?"

And all I could think was why did Margot Robbie need to cut hers first?

Because here's the thing. You either wanted shorter hair already or you didn't.

Margot Robbie didn't beam the desire for a bob into your brain through celebrity telepathy. You liked it already. You'd probably liked it for ages. You'd probably screenshotted three versions of it six months ago and quietly thought, "Oh God I wish I could."

But then one person who exists at a level of polished that honestly most of us cannot relate to because respectfully she has access to things I do not have access to — teams of people, lighting, styling, makeup artists, probably someone whose sole responsibility is making sure she doesn't leave the house looking vaguely Victorian orphan coded — suddenly does the haircut and collectively women everywhere go:

"Oh.

We're allowed now."

And honestly?

That fascinates me.

Not because women are silly.

Not because women are followers.

Because women are conditioned.

We are conditioned from such a young age to quietly seek permission before existing in ways that feel authentic to us.

Permission to cut our hair.

Permission to stop colouring our greys.

Permission to wear balloon jeans.

Permission to keep skinny jeans.

Permission to wear ankle socks.

Which honestly can we discuss because apparently ankle socks are aggressively millennial now and crew socks are the thing.

My mother — God love her — literally brought me over my ninety year old grandfather's Nike crew socks because she'd heard "young people wear these now."

And I looked at them and genuinely thought:

"Oh great. I can wear crew socks now."

And then immediately wanted to mentally slap myself with the biggest fish I could find because what do you mean NOW.

What do you mean somebody external needed to validate a sock before I could decide whether I liked it.

And before anybody starts, no.

I'm still not doing the giant crew socks over leggings with the enormous sneakers thing. Respectfully. I can't. It's not who I am. Jelly sandals? Absolutely. Crew socks over tights looking vaguely PE teacher coded? No.

But that's the point.

I know who I am.

Or at least I'm trying really bloody hard to.

And I think women lose that sometimes.

Because somewhere between social media and trends and celebrities and TikTok and "old money brunette" and "cowboy copper" and "clean girl aesthetic" and "mob wife aesthetic" and whatever aesthetic we've collectively decided we're becoming by Thursday, women stop asking:

"Do I actually like this?"

And start asking:

"Am I allowed to like this?"

Twenty one years behind the chair has taught me women almost never ask permission directly.

They disguise it.

"I wish I could."

"I'd love to but…"

"I could never pull that off."

"I'm not brave enough."

And honestly?

Sometimes brave enough just means somebody hasn't translated it properly yet.

Because if you want shorter hair but you're terrified because your face shape has been personally victimising you since Year Nine, let's talk about that.

If you think you need blonde because blonde equals youthful but every blonde you've ever had makes you quietly hate your reflection after three weeks, let's talk about that too.

If balloon jeans make you feel fantastic?

Wear them.

If skinny jeans make you feel fantastic?

Wear them.

If jelly sandals make you feel fantastic despite people carrying on like you've committed a crime against fashion?

Wear the bloody jelly sandals.

Because trends recycle.

Hair grows.

Jeans change.

Crew socks apparently rise from the dead.

But learning to trust yourself?

That takes longer.

And honestly I think women know what feels right more than they give themselves credit for.

They just spend so much time looking externally for permission that they forget to ask themselves first.

Do I actually like this?

Or do I like that somebody else liked it first.

Because you do not need permission to look like yourself.

You never did.