It feels like a big old shameful confession that I’ve had some extensions put in. Not for a bet. Or, a hen do. Just for the old rationale that I wanted my hair to look thicker. And, maybe if I’m lucky a bit longer too. Some well-placed, great quality extensions have as much transformative power as losing 8lbs. Or investing in a Chanel 2.55. That’s what they do; that’s what they’re there for, isn’t it?

I’d subjected my bleached hair to months of colour experimentation and it promptly repaid me by snapping off. There were all these weird gaps which needed to be filled. Extensions were the obvious solution. I went to see Inanch at her self-named Great Portland Street salon, because that is where you go when you want proper extensions. Inanch uses Great Lengths – little bundles of real hair, dyed to match your own - and she’s known for her natural, less is more approach. I was in and out in less than three hours, swishing down the street like a banker’s wife. 

But I didn’t tell my friends at first, nor the Never team as I hadn’t quite finished preening a fashion-literate explanation for them. There is this… thing that surrounds hair extensions. A stigma.  The past decade of mass celebrity consumption has seen hair extensions reclaimed by the more culturally nascent pockets of the world; WAGS (though we adore them), reality TV stars, fledgling pop stars, menopausal women recapturing their youth and so on. 

"our hair is the most potent barometer of style that we have to play with and so we’re fanatical about putting out the right message"

Then those pictures of Naomi Campbell’s hairline happened and the world collectively shuddered.  Hair extensions (lace front, weaves, bonds, clip-ins, sew-ins, the lot) equalled bad. And by and large, still does. Drill down a little and it all becomes clear: there’s a classist bias happening here. And I was guilty of it too.

Oddly, this seems to be a special prejudice reserved only for hair. The upper echelons of the fashion elite – public eye or not - are more than comfortable with huge acrylic nail talons, a light misting of spray tan and enormous, thatched lash extensions. But, our hair is always – and curiously so – the most potent barometer of style that we have to play with and so we’re fanatical about putting out the right message. We’d rather be Lily Aldridge than Courtney Stodden, after all.

But there’s something else at play here. Provenance. The second thing my boyfriend said upon seeing my new swathes of Victoria’s Secret hair, was, ‘Whose hair is it though?’ The first, predictably (but charming nonetheless) was, ‘Wow. I love you with long hair.’ His words struck a chord with me. I know where my vine-ripened tomatoes are grown and where my Rochas coat was handstitched, but I knew barely a thing about where my extra bits of hair had come from.

"Extensions aren’t a new thing - in Edwardian days hair was used to fill mattresses bought by aristocracy, wigs in theatre, court, parliament." - Amanda Jackson, principle educator at Great Lengths

Were they rightfully now mine? Who is this person? Were they complicit in the hair-giving? Would they mind that I’m now wearing their hair as my own, in some sort of act of beauty trickery? And of course, the single question that encouragingly, defines our times (particularly those who sniff at extensions); is it ethical? 

‘Does it come from dead people?’ says Amanda Jackson, principle educator at Great Lengths when I ask her about the depths of extension confusion she’s been embattled with over the years.  ‘I’ve been asked if people are accosted in the street and their hair cut off. The industry is so huge now, I’m sure that does go on – some companies use the hair shaved from a yak but we’re upfront about how we source our hair. It comes from temples in India and Asia.’

‘It’s part of the Hindu religion – these women willingly have their hair cut off as an offering to the Gods,’ Amanda explains. ‘They’re given care and a meal and the money is paid directly to the temple and is then used for charitable endeavours; schools, doctor’s surgeries…’ Hair that does good things, now that’s worth being outspoken about, no?

And what about the classist nature of the whole thing? ‘What people don’t often realise is that extensions aren’t a new thing. It’s something that’s been going on for hundreds and thousands of years. In Edwardian days hair was used to fill mattresses bought by aristocracy – wigs in theatre, court, parliament.’ 

I’m now out and proud; everyone knows I’m hiding some extra  hair (which I’ve now had cut to my chin, because well, lots of hair is a lot of work!) and I’m feeling pretty pleased with them.