There was once a band called Static-X. Their late lead singer, Wayne Static, had the most remarkable shock of hair. Long, hellraising spikes, straighter than a razor blade. As a rock-loving teen, I would use GHDs (or my mum’s iron) to electrify my mop, too. But I could never quite achieve the same mane as Wayne. At 19, I gave up and let it flop like Kurt Cobain.
Twenty years later, I was at the Eclipse Nordic Hot Springs in the Yukon, Canada. I’d flown from the UK to compete in the International Hair Freezing Contest, where every year, competitors are invited to jump into Eclipse’s balmy waters, wet their tresses and let Jack Frost have his way. Someone in the foyer asked what I was planning to fashion. “Well, have you heard of Wa…”
