Buzz Cuts To Soft Locs: 8 Black Women On Their Breakup Hair Transformations

Breakups are hard, but what comes after is harder. The heart-in-your-throat sadness, denial in the form of scrolling past their story like you didn't already watch it three times (six if you count the times you told your friends to stalk their page), and the sporadic bursts of anger looking back at past conversations. Finally, there’s acceptance. And for a lot of Black women, healing often means change, and that usually starts at our roots with a hair transformation. 

The breakup hair change is more than a cliché. For Black women, it’s a ritual. A reset. A quiet rebellion. Whether it’s a buzz cut, blonde box braids, a fresh silk press or a full return to natural kinks and coils, the post-breakup hair transformation says more than any goodbye text ever could.

Hair has always been loaded for Black women; it’s political, personal and oftentimes policed. So it makes sense that in moments of emotional chaos, we turn to it for clarity. Changing our hair isn’t just about aesthetics, it’s about healing. 

Unbothered has explored the intimate connections between breakups and hair transformations through the lens of Black womanhood. We hear from Black women about the choices they made after breakups — the drastic cuts, the colour changes, the protective styles — and what those choices meant. Some wanted to shed the version of themselves that was in the relationship. Others wanted to feel seen again. For many, it was simply about starting fresh, and there’s something undeniably Black about turning heartache into a beauty statement you have complete ownership of. Because sometimes, the most revolutionary thing a Black woman can do after heartbreak is decide who she wants to be next.

Lydia’s breakup had forced her to confront something bigger: how little she had been willing to settle for. “I realised I was waiting to be chosen instead of choosing myself,” she says. That clarity sparked a chain of events. She quit her job, applied for a teaching role abroad, and moved to Thailand—all within weeks. “That hairstyle became symbolic of a whole new chapter.”

“I just didn’t want to look at how I was feeling,” says Lydia, reflecting on the moment she walked out of the short but emotionally significant relationship. Instead of spiralling, she booked an appointment and chose something she’d never done before, long, burgundy soft locs.

“It was my first time getting that style and going that colour,” she says. “It made me feel cute. It made me feel good, like new hair, who this?”. Lydia wanted to feel like herself again because she says she was beginning to look unfamiliar. “I’d been living safely, comfortably. But dyeing my hair that colour made me feel daring. I was finally doing something I’d only talked about.”

For Lydia, the hair came first, but the woman who emerged after was completely transformed.

“I just went balls to the walls, full Britney Spears buzz cut because it was the easiest thing for me to do at the moment,” says Tahirah. 

After a painful six-year relationship that was a huge part of her youth, Tahirah found peace in the impulsive decision to cut her hair late at night with a pair of red scissors. “I was feeling really insecure and neglected… cutting my hair was the most empowering thing to do.”

For her, the buzz cut was about regaining control over her life. “Cutting my hair and going into that buzz cut moment was allowing me to have visibility,” she explains, highlighting how her identity as a Black woman shaped her relationship with her hair. “My beauty is not defined just by my hair; it’s about my aura, how I choose to show up.”

Through her cut, she gained renewed confidence, attracting both new opportunities and compliments. “I felt power. It was a moment of release, but also a power move for me. I didn’t care about the hair because it always grows back,” says Tahirah. This candid reflection highlights how, for most Black women, hair is deeply intertwined with their identity and, in some cases, defines who they are, shaping how they are seen, understood, and received by the world.

“Red is loud,” says Remi, staring into the camera during our video chat, “but it was also me playing it safe because red was the only colour that my hair had ever been when I was younger, other than my natural hair colour.” She hadn’t worn the colour since her early twenties, a time when she was a freer and more joyful version of herself. After a major breakup in her late twenties, she returned to the familiar deep red to signal a new chapter.

 It was more than just colour, she opted for a leave-out weave, a drastic shift after years of wearing braids. The colour “reminded me of a time in my life where I just enjoyed my experience and the things that I was doing and the way that I was living,” says Remi. 

Everyone processes a breakup differently; some burrow into deep, dark depression, and some snap out of it in the blink of an eye, like the relationship never happened. For Remi, it wasn’t only the hair change that helped her move through her emotions, but writing about it was also an unexpected emotional release. She surprised herself by writing and sharing a deeply personal project called Crying Over Breakfast on her Instagram. 

Split into three parts —heartbreak, hurting, healing— the series gave her space to reflect on the relationship, her emotions, and her growth. “The heartbreak was very raw and very honest and very unfiltered. And then the hurting was more me settling into where I was at, based on what had happened. Not so much the impulsive like being upset, but  just sorting through the whole relationship and everything that happened, and then the healing part was just focused on, okay, what was I doing to heal myself?”

Her hair change was just one piece of healing. She also focused on trying new foods, going out with her friends, and going to art galleries. The weave and red colour marked change, not because they were new, but because she chose them for herself.

Ray had locs for five or six years; they were a part of her identity, but they carried the energy of two major relationships. Following the end of her most recent one, she felt the weight of what hadn’t been processed. “Your hair carries energy,” she explained, “and I knew I needed to do something.”

With the help of her mother, Ray spent three daunting days carefully unravelling over a hundred locs. Each strand unwound like a thread from the past, the process becoming both ritual and release. “It was a labour of love,” she said, thinking back on the memory. Funnily enough, this exact process was spoken into existence by her ex-boyfriend’s mother. “She's been trying to get me to brush out my hair because we broke up,” says Ray. “She's very spiritual and she's always like, you need to go into your next stage of life, and this will be great for your mental health.”

Locs are a serious commitment; they take time and care, they're not something you choose to start lightly. So, what does a woman who had them for over five years choose as her next hairstyle post-breakup? A custom blonde bob wig, that's what. “I’m a Bob girl,” Ray says with a smile. “It commands respect. And I needed to remember I was the planet, not the moon.” This was significant because she had shared that she had made her ex-boyfriend her entire planet, forgetting she could be one herself. 

The blonde wig was Monroe-esque and glamorous. “I felt fully in alignment. That blonde bob brought a different type of energy, attention, and confidence.”

Ray’s hair transformation mirrored her emotional one. Post-breakup, it wasn’t just about changing her look — it was about a complete return to form.

Fresh off a year abroad in Toronto, 22-year-old Nuna returns home to London reeling from her first serious relationship. A toxic on-and-off two-year experience that left her feeling lost. The breakup prompted a dramatic change where she shaved her head completely. “I went down to the skin, it wasn’t even a pixie,” says Nuna. This act wasn’t just about aesthetics; it marked a turning point in how she saw herself.

“I grew up in Peterborough, which is predominantly white. I remember going to my friend’s houses after school, and they’d do my hair, and it never looked right.” Nuna often mimicked European beauty standards, straightening her hair excessively and relying on damaging slick-backs. In her relationship, this cycle of trying to fit a specific look persisted due to her partner’s critical comments. “I was constantly trying to look how he wanted me to,” she says. “Shaving it off was like — you can’t tell me anything anymore.”

The haircut was a gateway to self-discovery. She began experimenting with wigs and even learned to make her own after a disappointing salon experience. “I was spending £400 on bad wigs. I had to learn to do it myself,” she explains. Over time, this led her back to protective styles like braids and a deeper understanding of her hair.

Now in her early 30s, she reflects on the haircut as a pivotal step. “It didn’t solve everything, but it started something,” she says. For her, the big chop was both an act of release and reclamation — a way to cut ties with damaging ideals and step into a more authentic version of herself.

“I just felt relieved,” says Tolu, remembering how a blonde mullet wig unexpectedly became her post-breakup armour. The relationship had run its course, and while the end wasn’t devastating, the transition still called for change. While many would expect heartbreak to bring on tears, Tolu’s reaction was the opposite. “I really didn’t give a fuck. I was so happy it was over.” The mullet was a symbol of freedom. “It felt like coming back to myself,” says Tolu. 

Having always used hair as a form of expression, she wasn’t new to switching up her style, but this was different. The wig was unlike anything she’d worn before. It was short, in your face, blonde, and defied the age-old myth that dark-skinned women “can’t pull off blonde.” She could, and she did. “It just marked the end of something and the beginning of something else,” says Tolu reflectively. 

Though she rarely wears the wig now, what it represents still holds weight. “I don’t hate it, but it sits in a weird space of time. It reminds me of the past,” says Tolu. The wig wasn’t about reinvention; it was about alignment. She didn’t need to reclaim agency; she already had it. The mullet simply echoed what she already knew, she was ready to move on — and she did.

After ending a toxic relationship, Liz bravely chose to cut off her hair completely. “Hair holds a lot of energy,” she says. “I needed to get rid of it.” The breakup coincided with a move back to Manchester, and the timing felt right to start over. “I’d been neglecting my hair for so long. Letting go of the hair was like letting go of something that no longer felt like me,” says Liz.  She was 22 years old when she met her ex and 25 years old when the relationship ended. 

Sitting in the barber’s chair, she felt lighter spiritually and emotionally. “It was one less thing to think about while moving on.” We met in the middle of lockdown, and over those two and a half years, I grew up fast. Mentally, I changed so much. Leaving felt like a Phoenix-rising moment,  like I was finally coming back to myself,” says Liz. 

As a Black woman, the decision to cut her hair came with extra scrutiny. “People asked what my boyfriend would think. I didn’t have one anymore—wasn’t that the point?” she says. Her hair had always felt like a performance. She relaxed it to fit in, braided it during the natural hair wave, and even wore wigs, though she hated wearing them. Now, for the first time since childhood, she’s growing her hair naturally and learning how to care for it without trends dictating her choices.

Her relationship with her hair mirrored her relationship with herself; both had suffered. “I wasn’t eating or sleeping well. My hair was fucked. I wasn’t happy.” Shaving off her hair put the power back into her hands. “Everything felt out of control, but this one thing was mine.”

Two weeks after her breakup, Ramona walked into her hairdresser’s salon and asked for the chop. Not a trim, not a bob. A full reset. “I wanted to shave it all off and do a proper Britney Spears,” she says, half-joking, “but I thought that might be a bit too radical.” Instead, she opted for a shaved-back bowl cut.

The decision wasn’t spontaneous – she’d been thinking about cutting her hair for over a year. But it took the unravelling of her relationship to make the move. “I didn’t lose myself,” she says. “I betrayed myself.”

Cutting her hair felt like “a spiritual purge”, says Ramona. “There was so much trapped in it that I needed to let go of it”.  Watching her hair fall was scary and safe all at once. The terror that settled in while she was in the hairdresser’s chair shifted and made space for newness.  

Post-breakup, she looked in the mirror and saw a version of herself that felt powerful. The haircut didn’t give her confidence; it revealed it. “Hair grows back,” she says. “You can start over as many times as you need to. There are no rules.”