Eleven years ago, aged just 10 and a half, Willow Smith was done with being famous. Off the back of her breakout hit, Whip My Hair, a Rihanna-esque banger that played on repeat across playgrounds and dancefloors for weeks, she had landed a prestigious slot supporting Justin Bieber on tour. The whole family flew out for her opening night in Birmingham, on 4 March 2011. She slayed that night, and the next, and the next. But when the lights went up at the end of the last European gig, she came off stage and declared, “I’m finished, Daddy. I’m ready to go home.”
Daddy – also known as Will Smith – told her that, no, she wasn’t done, because she had signed on for a slew of dates in Australia. End of discussion – or so he thought, he wrote in his 2021 memoir, until a few mornings later, when “Willow came skipping into the kitchen for breakfast. ‘Good morning, Daddy,’ she said joyfully, as she bounced to the refrigerator. My jaw nearly dislocated, dislodged, and shattered on the kitchen floor: my world-dominating, hair-whipping, future global superstar was totally bald. During the night, Willow had shaved her entire head. My mind raced – how was she going to whip her hair if she didn’t have any? Who the hell wants to pay to watch some kid whip their head back and forth?”
