In 2015, then 38 years old, Marjorie Jacquet, press attaché in the fashion, learns that she is suffering from a stage 3 breast cancer . This Parisian who crunch life to the teeth starts then a long fight against disease and collateral damage caused by heavy treatments .
One of the most traumatic for her: the loss of her hair.
A subject on which she lingers in a book, "The hair I dreamed", published by Max Milo.
Mixed with selected pieces of her work, she gives us her testimony, strong and intimate.
Hair, a powerful symbol of femininity
"When the gynecologist tells me that I have breast cancer, I do not tell myself that I will die, but that I will lose my hair.
They are long and I would not cut them for anything. This disease already affects an erotic attribute, the breast, so losing her hair is catastrophic. They are an extension of my femininity.
I am traumatized, I tell myself that I will become repulsive, that I will no longer please, seduce. My life as a woman stops there. "
When there is wind, I like to feel my skirt and my hair take off, as if I had always felt that one day I would lose my femininity. Brutally. Without notice. (extract page 36).
The scrutiny of the photos of bald women on my cell phone absorbs me completely (...) I want to know precisely what awaits me, after how long and how their hair fell, where have they found their wigs how did they live with when, how fast they push back, will they have exactly the same texture and color as before? (extracts p.83-84).
A wig "of dream"
"I quickly start looking for a wig, but unfortunately I discover that since it is a disease that affects older women, there are not really enough wigs for younger women I cry every day for two months at the thought of being totally bald.
My friends then ask the hairdresser John Nollet, who is not at all specialized in that, to create a custom wig and throw a kitty to be able to offer it to me. "
Sitting in a carmine velvet armchair, I see her reflection in the mirror whirling over me, taking the imprints of my skull and cutting a lock of my hair (...) He says the same thing as my father: ' When we have as beautiful a face as yours, we are beautiful with or without hair ''. He stares at me with his big eyes and asks, "What hair would you have dreamed of?" Long, of course, long to the breasts, I want to remain feminine (excerpt, page 115).
My dark thoughts are swept away in a fraction of a second by this enchanting vision, perched on an artificial head, as suspended in the air. I do not see it, immensely long, intimidating, butterflies dance in my belly, my legs tremble, I smile, subjugated by his grace, his femininity, troubled by his confidence. She is even more beautiful than in my dreams, nothing to do with all the ones I've seen before (...) I already know that our story will be hectic, passionate. Will she resist the suffering that will alienate us? (extract p.153).
"Please, do not fall"
Every morning the same ritual: control of the pillow. I know that my hair is supposed to fall fatally in two weeks, but I can not help but check. Several times a day while approaching the mirror of the bathroom, I catch two or three hair between my fingers and I pull gently on it to control that they are well hung. I do not wash them, brush them, touch them , attach them, in an absurd and desperate attempt to resist. Please do not fall. I beg you, do not fall. I will do anything. I will do anything you want. And more (excerpt p.141).
I see the disaster in the darkness of the room. Hair dotted my pillow. It's everywhere. (...) I remain paralyzed with terror with this ball of horsehair between my clenched fingers (extracts pp. 158-159).
Shave or not shave?
Since a week they fall by the thousands (...) Today there are more holes than hair. My skull looks like a battlefield. The intern in chemo advised me to shave them. (...) Of course that's what I had decided from the beginning: shave (...) This scene, I spent it loop in my head. The problem is that now I'm not sure that's the best solution. The idea paralyzes me, the violence of the gesture (excerpt p.162).
"Today is decided, it's the big day ... The day of mowing (...) Indefinable, the feeling that I feel when Benjamin passes the sizzling device slipping on my head, when I feel my hair swirled like a cloud of butterflies with delicate wings, before fading on the floor as if it were a cotton field (...) I cried my hair for weeks, they finally disappeared in a disconcerting simplicity (...) I'm not ready to see myself bald and I do not know if I'll be a day (excerpts p.166-167).
The gaze of others and that which we carry on ourselves
In hindsight, I tell myself that the wig was very useful, especially when I was in society, because I did not accept to have become bald. But on the other, we are not at all comfortable with a wig. With boys, it's impossible. When he passes his hand in you are paralyzed. I thought only of her. The fact that she could fall at any moment. I would have been so ashamed.
The funny thing is that John Nollet recently confided to me that he was convinced that the woman's power lies in her hair. And having read my book confirms it in this idea.
As I am in remission I kept it (laughs). We never know ! In addition it is a gift from my friends, so it is precious. I could not have thrown it away. If I have to part with it one day, I would donate it to an association.
Rebirth (and regrowth) after cancer
"In the months following the cessation of treatments, my hair has grown back"
I spent long hours at the hairdresser to smooth and brighten them (extract p.269).
Three years after discovering her cancer, Marjorie is a brand new woman. She left her job in the press, set up her company, "Madeforsun", lives between Paris and Marrakesh where she has Berber carpets, and still has many projects in preparation.
She found a beautiful blonde hair. But from now on, they are no longer the symbol of an absolute femininity that depends only on the gaze of others, but on hers, she assures us. To her only.
