Join the bob brigade

In Scott Fitzgerald's wonderfully acidic short story, Bernice Bobs Her Hair, a dull young woman dreams of having short hair. Back in the 1920s nice women didn't. Men, used to seeing women with long, flowing tresses, were horrified. The iconic haircut, which celebrates its 100th anniversary this year, has always been an indicator of free love and barely-there hemlines. More dangerously, it blurs gender boundaries.

But when fashion designer Coco Chanel took the plunge it became an fashion statement. Twiggy and Mary Quant reinvented it in the 1960s thanks to Vidal Sassoon. Joanna Lumley brought us the Purdy cut in the 1970s.

One thing's for certain: the hairstyle created by Antoine de Paris in France 100 years ago to emulate Joan of Arc has never gone out of fashion. Just look at Agyness Deyn and Peaches Geldof.

There are new converts every year. Just last week, Gordon Ramsay's wife Tana unveiled a bob ... weeks after Gordon faced charges of infidelity. The bob is an icon of female rebellion: chop off the past, make a fresh start.

Of course, the style has its critics. A blonde colleague tells me her boyfriend would never let her have one because it would "make her look like a nurse". And the sprayed-on helmet can be very ageing - though Anna Wintour and Helen Mirren pull it off brilliantly.

The trouble is, there's no going back once you start. I know - I'm a bob addict. It is possibly the most expensive beauty treatment known to woman (I'd tell you it costs me £50 a week if I didn't know my mother reads this page).

For 40 blameless years I had short hair. But then, last year, I started paying for a blowdry and everything changed. I actually managed to grow it a few inches until one day, the hairdresser applied the styling tongs and voilà ... I resembled a fatter version of 1920s screen siren Louise Brooks.

Men cross rooms to admire it; bored hairdressers spend hours stroking it; even my newsagent keeps up a running commentary. The irony is everyone thinks the chopped-off style is low-maintenance.

Wrong, wrong. I live in hair hell. I can't go out in the rain, lie full-length in the bath or sleep. To be a true flapper you need shiny, thick hair that just STAYS. Those of us with thin, wavy hair have to pay for the privilege.

There's something cruelly reductive about the most famous crop in history, as Bernice discovers in Fitzgerald's short story. When she boasts she is going to have the cut, she becomes a sensation, adored by men, idolised by women. But the minute her tricksy cousin calls her bluff and takes her to the barber she becomes a social outcast. Like so many things, the bob works better in art than life.