I’ve never been one to go with what is ‘safe’ or ‘boring’ when it comes to my hair. High school saw me using the clothes iron to straighten my curls before I received my precious Muster for my 16th birthday while I haven’t seen my natural colour since I was 13 but have been everything from platinum blonde to blue black and in between.

I can still remember Mum letting me put that first LIVE colour rinse through my hair, I thought I was so cool and grown up. That feeling after you wash out the colour and use the conditioning treatment, the shine when you dry it – it’s almost like the high you get from buying shoes.

Perhaps this is why I love getting my hair done so much. I am lucky enough to have a very close friend who is a hairdresser, and a good one at that, who bends to my random hair desires – one month I might want blonde then just as she gets the shade and tones right, I decide I am ready to be dark again. There used to be a pattern with my hair, typically blonde for the warmer months and then bold dark colours for the winter but recent years have seen this cycle skew and now it seems every time I visit the salon I emerge a new person.

This week was my 26th birthday, and as most of you I am sure can attest to, minor life crises often encourage dramatic changes in hair colours and cuts. Be it a relationship breakup, a new job or the realisation that you are past the quarter century mark in your life (with no boyfriend or new job to speak of), a new haircut can give you the confidence boost you need to continue your journey.

Twelve months ago, after a minor ‘life crises’ for me, I gave my hairdresser permission to ‘do whatever you want’. I wasn’t feeling particularly brave but I trust my hairdresser and they say a change is as good as a holiday. 2 hours later I emerged with a Victoria Beckham pob, much shorter than anything I have had in about a decade (last time it was this short I was 12 years old, just started high school and cried for a week cause I looked like a boy) and I loved it. It was grown up, sophisticated and, compared to shaping curls every day, much easier to manage with a straightener (now upgraded to a Cortec).

As the pob started to grow out, I complained endlessly about how long it was taking to grow and how the short bits at the front never managed to make the ponytail. Every cut and colour for the following months started with ‘just a trim’ and as the warmer months came around again, we began the process of re-blonding.

Then just as I think I have found something I am happy with length and colour wise, my quarter life plus one year crises hits and I need a fix of something dramatically different. I looked to Victoria Beckham for inspiration again – her 2010 shattered pob cut is currently being toted as the IT haircut of the new decade. There was some banter about my complaining re the length of the hair and my history with slow hair growth – ‘It’ll grow back’ I said and away we went.

My hairdresser coloured, foiled, chopped, trimmed, razored and preened. Damp curls fell to the floor, my heart quickened and adrenalin pumped. I reached to scratch the back of my neck and felt the dark, short inch long hair than now sat in the place of what was previously below shoulder length blonde hued tresses. Had I made the right decision?

When the mirror was first placed in front of me (my hairdresser works without the client in front of the mirror – apparently I am too quick to judge!!) I panicked. What had I done? All my experiences with short hair screamed at me to not go ahead and I had done it anyway. Where was my good sense? My intuition? Eek!

I had a 50 minute drive home and the whole time I tried to angle my reflection in the rear view mirror, primp with the heater and air con blasting, play with pins I found in the ashtray. Mobile phones are no danger to drivers – people who cut all their hair off are the really scary ones. Once safely home I took to the bathroom with hair straightener, sprays, pins and combs at the ready. I played, pulled, poked and pouffed. I looked at my reflection and suddenly it wasn’t all so bad. It was a bit 1920s glam meets 2010s posh pob. A bit Ginnifer Goodwin, a bit Molly Ringwald, a bit Victoria Beckham. And I didn’t mind it so much.

A few days later and I am rapt with the cut. Once again, my hairdresser has done a brilliant job and as I should well know, you always give a new haircut a few days (or at least a few hours!) to settle. Now it’s just a matter of trying different styles and outfits to see what works best for the cut. Today a guy at work told me I looked like I had stepped out of a Vogue shoot. Perhaps here is a good place to start.