WIG QUEEN ·

ALOPECIA GIRLIE ·

BALD BADDIE ·

WIG QUEEN · ALOPECIA GIRLIE · BALD BADDIE ·

HELLO, I’M HOLLY.

A digital illustration of a bald woman's face with her eyes closed and lips puckered, set against a plain gray background.

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I’m Holly.

Your bald bestie, wig enthusiast, and full-time hype girl for anyone dealing with hair loss.

I’ve been rocking a hair-free head since I was 6, and now I spend my days creating content that’s part education, part confidence-building, and part hair loss comedy.

But more than anything, I’m here to make sure no one feels alone in this. I know how isolating hair loss can be - the stares, the questions, the pressure to “fix” something that doesn’t need fixing. That’s why I share my story so openly: to remind you that confidence looks different for everyone, and you get to decide what makes you feel good.

Through my content, I teach practical wig tips, bust myths, and hopefully give you a laugh on the days you need it most. I work with incredible wig brands, offer one-on-one support, and create spaces where women can feel seen, celebrated, and connected.

Because hair loss doesn’t mean losing yourself - and if you ever forget that, I’ll be here to hype you up until you believe it again.

Collage of three childhood photos: a young girl sitting in a rocking chair wearing a white dress, a boy in a school uniform with a bow tie and headband smiling, and a toddler with a shaved head sitting on a bed holding a purple toy.

MY STORY

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Let’s take it back to 1990…

I was actually born with a small patch of hair missing that never grew in. No one thought much of it at first.

After a year or so passed, my mum knew something was up and next thing you know, a dermatologist was explaining to her that I had Alopecia Areata.

The patches got larger and multiplied until I had just a few tufts of hair left.

When I was 6, mum went in for the shave because, “hair grows back thicker when you cut it”, right? Well…

That’s when my ✨bald girl life✨ began.

At that age, I didn’t have words for it, but I felt different.

My parents and teachers and classmates were supportive, but I looked different to them. And I didn’t know anyone who looked like me.

A young girl with shoulder-length brown hair, wearing a black headband, a black sweater, and a white collared shirt with a black ribbon tie, smiling against a blue background.

Elegant red cursive letter 'd' on a black background.

My First Wig

I only rocked the bald look for a minute - I dived into wigs pretty quick.

I got my first wig from the local wig shop where there were three kid’s wigs to choose from. Spolied for choice, honestly! Maybe you wouldn’t know it looking at that coconut-shaped wig on my head, but we chose the best of the three.

Clearly, that wig was not fooling anyone lol. It was bulky, itchy, all baggy and loose, and unrealistic.

But at the time? It was everything. It was my security blanket. It gave me the tiniest bit of confidence to walk into school and pretend I was just like everyone else.

Collage of four school portraits of children in uniform with different hairstyles, some with headbands or hair accessories, smiling against cloud or neutral backgrounds.

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**The Bald Kid in School**

Throughout my school life, wigs were a constant.

My siblings all had this gorgeous thick, blonde hair, and there I was with a dark, chunky wig that looked like it belonged in a costume box.

I felt like the odd one out in my own family, and all I wanted was to blend in.

I actually had such a supportive group of friends, but even with them, I hid my hair loss. The thought of being “the bald girl” was too much.

There were plenty of funny moments, looking back.

Like lining up for the school head lice check and insisting my wig got checked too (because God forbid I stood out).

Or wearing a wig under my swim cap at the swimming carnival, even though that made no sense, looked odd, and I easily could’ve just gone without.

By high school, when all the girls were getting extensions, I got some added to my wig too… anything to feel normal.

Basically, if there was a way to overcomplicate my life in the name of “fitting in,” that’s what I did.

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Three concentric pink and red glittery hearts with a white background.

Alopecia: Upgraded

When I left school and started working, life got stressful. And with that stress, alopecia decided to kick things up a notch. My body hair, brows, and lashes all fell out in my early twenties.

Losing my brows and lashes seriously hit harder than losing the hair on my head. Suddenly, every little detail of my alopecia was visible.

By my mid-twenties, I had no hair anywhere - not on my scalp, not on my body, not even nose hairs. It was like a second round of grief over something I thought I’d already adjusted to.

A collage of photos showing a woman undergoing first brow microblading treatment, with before, during, and after images; the central image shows her face with a hair cover, and plant-safe clips hold the pictures in place.

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New Era: Badly-Drawn Brows & Crying Over Lash Glue

Honestly, the brows and lashes were a journey.

For my brows, I first went through the phase of drawing them on every day (time-consuming, stressful, and never the same twice).

I tried microblading (which, spoiler, did not look realistic on me and definitely didn’t last long enough for the price tag).

I even gave eyebrow wigs a shot… which I actually wore successfully for a couple of years, until my randomly reacted to them and I could never wear them again!

Eventually, I found my holy grail: temporary tattoo brows. Quick, easy, and they actually look like real brow hairs.

But the lashes? Oof. That was the hardest part by far. I had to completely relearn my makeup.

I tried and gave up, and tried again and gave up again, experimented with every false lash I could find, and eventually found my groove.

The secret recipe I finally landed on: using black lash glue as my eyeliner, then applying tapered strip lashes right on top. Game changer!!

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The Toughest Years of My Life

Those years were tough. Going through my twenties, trying to navigate adult life with alopecia. I hated my wigs. I hated the way I looked without them. Every reflection felt like a reminder that I wasn’t “normal.” I was trying to hide, but I felt like a walking giveaway.

I was so terrified that someone would find out about my alopecia. It was my number one concern in every single situation. The only way I knew to cope was to disappear into the background. I thought if I stayed small, if I stayed hidden, maybe I’d survive another day without any hair-related questions.

But the cost of hiding was huge. I didn’t put myself out there at all. I avoided opportunities, friendships, even fun, because all I could think about was protecting my secret. Alopecia had taken away my confidence, and with it, so much of the joy and life I could have been living.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

The real turning point came in my late twenties, when I found the hair loss community online.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t the only bald girl in the room. Suddenly, I had this group of people who got it. They hyped me up, shared their own stories, and told me that I wasn’t “less than”. That connection was like fuel. I didn’t feel alone anymore. I felt inspired. Empowered. Hopeful.

I began to see my reflection differently. Never, not once in my life, had I thought “oh cute” in response to seeing myself bald. Then I did. The shame had started to melt.

I started slowly sharing with friends, co-workers, letting them in on the truth I’d hidden for so long. And it didn’t go at all how I expected… The world didn’t end. In fact, I felt lighter.

It was scary at first, don’t get me wrong! But it was so freeing. SO worth the “scary”.

And through a lot of and trial and error, I finally found wigs that weren’t just heavy, itchy security blankets. They were realistic, comfortable, beautiful. Wearing a wig stopped feeling like hiding and started feeling like a choice. A way to express myself, not cover my secret.

And I had to ask myself: Am I really going to let alopecia keep taking my life away from me?

The answer was no.

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Now… I’m here ❤️

Confidence didn’t come overnight. But little by little, I stopped hiding. And even started posting my story online. (Holly 10 years ago would never believe you)

And then something wild happened - women with alopecia started reaching out to me, saying, “You made me feel less alone.”

That’s when I realised… this was bigger than me. Others needed this representation and connection, just like I did.

Alopecia didn’t ruin my life. It gave me a mission.

Now, I get to be the bald big sister I wish I had growing up - helping women and girls find confidence, helping them feel seen.

And reminding anyone with hair loss that your beauty was never tied to your strands.

xoxo