I Tried Anora’s Tinsel Hair & Connected With My Inner Hannah Montana

Since I first saw it in mid-October, Sean Baker’s Anora has been firmly lodged in my mind. Best described as Cinderella by way of Uncut Gems, the film centers on Ani (Mikey Madison), a tenacious sex worker who lucks into the high life when her client, a super-rich Russian f*ckboi, seemingly falls in love with her. The pairing is unlikely but not unbelievable — you’d be hard-pressed not to fall in love with her, too. Madison imbues the character with humor, grit, and vulnerability, so even when things go wrong, as they do, you never stop rooting for Ani to sweet-talk, wrestle, and grind her way to the top. Also, she looks fantastic — a modern-day Snow White who literally shimmers in the light, thanks to the strands of tinsel woven throughout her long, dark hair. The flashy strands make her look just a little more than human, a fairy among mortals.

It’s no secret that fashion has long “borrowed” ideas and trends pioneered by sex workers. (See: fishnets, latex, lucite heels, anything fetish-y, and lingerie and visible underwear on the runway.) That said, Ani’s hair tinsel isn’t particularly associated with sex work and is, in fact, a thing all on its own. It’s a versatile style that can look unicorn-princess cutesy or add just a touch of magic to a glamorous outfit, but it’s never really caught on. Watching Anora, I wondered if tinsel was about to have a moment. I wondered if hair tinsel would now become associated with sex work. I wondered… should I try that?

I’m no stranger to at-home beauty experimentation, having cut my own hair, dyed it red, and bleached it; I had a purple streak for a while in high school, and I used to get a hair wrap at my K-8 school’s fair every fall like clockwork.

If nothing else, I figured, I’d learn a neat new skill. But then I found you can pay people to put it in, and that settled it: I was so getting tinsel.

Saturday

The first thing you need to know about getting hair tinsel is that you have to call around, since the service is still niche enough that it isn’t on most salons’ menus. After perusing Yelp and making a few phone calls, I get an appointment at Theodora in K-Town, Los Angeles. It’s “three for $10,” by which they mean three individual strands tied onto your hairs, and since they tie the tinsel strands in the middle, leaving both ends hanging down, it’s really more like six.

Based on the piece in Vogue about how the Anora hairstylists did Madison’s tinsel — and apparently begged Madison not to wash her hair so they wouldn’t have to re-do it as often — I was expecting a long and arduous process.

I get seven sets of three magenta-ish pink strands, and it takes 20 minutes. Everyone who walks by is like, “Oh, you’re getting tinsel! Fun!”

Looking at my tinsel-fied self in the mirror, I know it’s going to look fantastic once I’m styled, made-up, and in something other than a shirt and jeans. The strands draw attention to my hair and, by proxy, to my face, and I more or less like my face.

After adding the tinsel, my stylist trims it to be slightly shorter than my actual hair, which helps it blend in. I send a picture to my mom and she responds “oooooh!” This is high praise from my mom.

Though the idea is to wear the tinsel in my “normal life,” it’s Halloweekend, so that evening, I dress as a butterfly for a friend’s house party. Inspired by my flashy new hair — which honestly makes me feel more like Hannah Montana than an exotic dancer — I use primer to coat my eyelids in glitter, which looked so good I use more to cover my décolletage in sparkles, but that looks kind of crazy, so I rub half of it off. You live, you learn. Except now, the stakes of a beauty blunder are high: To preserve the strands, I have to avoid washing my hair for as long as possible, and since I don’t have a bathing cap, that means skipping a few showers. In short, I’m still pretty glittery when I head out — but I do manage to shave my legs and pits in the sink.

At the party, everyone likes my hair but assumes I’m a fairy. A butterfly can’t have cool hair?

Sunday

I sleep till noon-ish and wake up with metallic bedhead. Still trailing glitter with every step, I attempt to flat iron my hair around the tinsel, which is, after all, metal and will warp if overheated. It does not work.

So far Matilda (the cat) has shown little to no interest in the strands. I mean, I didn’t expect gushing praise, but would it kill her to say I look nice? If a cat eats tinsel, it can kill them, so I am slightly concerned that a strand will fall onto the floor, but she doesn’t tend to eat anything that’s not her food, and I’ll soon learn that they only come out in my hairbrush, so we’re safe. And that’s that about my cat Matilda. For some reason, other people don’t find her as interesting as I do.

I post a picture of my hair to Instagram and ask how people like it (90% approval rating) and get a couple responses along the lines of “OK, Anora.” If I were braver, I would have actually been Anora for Halloween. I saw at least one woman online who did this, but she didn’t hair tinsel. I may be cowardly, but lazy I am not.

Monday

I work from home, so no one sees my tinsel but the gal in the mirror. I shower the remaining body glitter off but don’t wash my hair, which is unusual for me. Breaking News! White girl discovers concept of Wash Day! More at 11!

Today it’s giving rock star, go-go dancer, Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century. Is it hot? Not exactly. It demands the nighttime. I catch my reflection and think “What am I doing in a T-shirt? Someone fetch me a Going Out Top.”

I wonder: Why don’t more people wear casual tinsel casually? It’s less permanent and time-consuming than bleaching or color-streaking and far less laborious than fake eyelashes or lip filler. Why did Taylor Swift put glitter freckles on her face when she could have a rainbow in her hair?

Tuesday

After work, I have a sketch comedy performance. To prepare, I douse myself in the Blake Lively dry shampoo. It smells nice but does little, as is true of all dry shampoos.

My female sketch teammates compliment my sparkly pink strands. A male teammate says, “I know this isn’t what it is, but I like your… streamers.” I must be in a mood, because one of my fellow actors asks me, “Lizzie, are you OK?” Before I can answer, another says, “Of course she’s OK, look at her hair!”

Lesson: Get hair tinsel and people will assume you’re happy. It’s like when you do red lipstick and everyone thinks you made up your whole face. The mind colors in the gaps.

Wednesday

Things are getting dicey. My hair is oily on a good day, and while none of the strands have fallen out, they’ve started slipping down, and are now tied, like, an inch from the root. I shampoo and condition as normal, then comb my wet hair very, very gently and let it air dry. Tinsel doesn’t really curl, and my hair is naturally wavy, so the pieces don’t blend into my mane as seamlessly as Ani’s, but such is life.

TMI: I’m developing a rash under my right armpit — probably from the weekend’s quickie shave. I can’t exactly blame the hair tinsel, but I learn that my body is a delicate ecosystem that might not be worth messing with.

Today, I have a writing class, then a friend’s Nora Ephron-themed cookie swap party. Girls at the cookie hang are suitably impressed with the tinsel and surprised they are just “tied on.” (The stylist used a small tool, but, yes, essentially, they are.) While I’m there, the Dodgers win the World Series. I’ve lived in L.A. for two World Series now, and I’ve only had hair tinsel for one, and that’s the one the Dodgers win. The correlation here speaks for itself.

Thursday

I wake from a dream about sparkles. A tinsel comes out as I brush my hair. Just as the first fallen leaf foretells the start of winter, so too does the first loose tinsel foretell… the eventual end of this hair experiment.

Today is actual Halloween, but also a friend’s birthday, which she wants to spend at Goth Night at a queer line-dancing club. I’ve been before and know it’s a bit of a scene; they expect you to know the dances, which I do not. Also, it costs 20 American dollars for a vodka soda, which is not strictly relevant, but I’m still thinking about it.

I wear a vintage velvet ’80s dress I stole from my mom and dark eyeliner and lipstick. Everyone else is in Amazon-bought tulle or leather and lace. The birthday girl compliments my hair tinsel. No one else notices, probably because it’s dark and the room is packed with queer line-dancing goths. Fair enough.

Friday

I have a job interview I’m really nervous about. It’s over Zoom, but still, first impressions are important. I scrub off the vestiges of the goth makeup, but the tinsel is prominently on display. I thought I would be asked about it as an ice breaker. I figured it would make me stand out. It does not come up.

Saturday

I’ve officially had my hair tinsel for a week! My best friend comes over to work on a screenplay we are writing together. She praises my tinsel. I praise her ability to be eight and a half months pregnant. Womanhood is a spectrum.

Sunday

I take another shower, brush my hair, and four more tinsels come out. I’m tempted to rip them all out at this point (ADHD) but remembering the baseball of it all, decide it’d be too risky to go tinsel-less before Election Day.

I see a musician friend do an acoustic set at a weed store and get more compliments, including from a gay guy and from a girl who works at the weed store, so you know she’s cool.

Maybe a bit too cool to be true? I’m not saying anyone’s lying about liking the tinsel, but I have gleaned, over the years, that when someone notices something, their way of pointing it out is often to say “I like —” rather than just “I see —.” So it’s possible that while the tinsel strands are fun, they’re not a slam-dunk for every occasion. (I first realized this when, at the end of freshman year of high school, I gleaned that not all of the other students actually “loved” my gold cowboy boots.) (Yes, I used to wear gold cowboy boots to school in San Francisco; I’ve always been a dumb*ss.)

Monday

I spend the day working at home and doing laundry. My neighbor compliments my tinsel from a full staircase away, which is a new distance record. My mom tells me about a potentially serious health issue. Also, I’m getting my period. I react by cutting out most but not all of the tinsels, now sick of the little bumps where the knots are tied. I also snip a full lock of hair by accident. (I thought that I didn’t need a mirror — I very much needed a mirror.) At least my rash is clearing up a little.

I actually really like how it looks with just a few strands tied away from my part, so the tinsel doesn’t lie on top of my hair but peeks through around my shoulders.

Tuesday

A day spent panicking at home. I shower for reasons of cleanliness. My hair tinsel fails to secure a win for Kamala Harris, though California does go blue, so maybe my powers only extend to state lines?

Wednesday

The test results come back and my mom (in Northern California) is OK. I knew the tinsel wouldn’t let me down!

More good news: My rash is clearing up. But my experiment is winding to a close. Another strand comes out in my brush, leaving just one left.

Compared to my pre-tinsel self, I feel stronger but more tired, my mettle tested through and through. The tinsel gave me a new tool for standing out in a crowd, if and when I want to — but in the bigger picture, not much has changed.

Which is not, actually, unlike the ending of Anora. I totally get that movie.