HELLO, BEAUTIFUL

Strands of long black hair covered the floor around the barber’s chair. Minutes earlier, Olympian and Arc’teryx climb athlete, Alannah Yip, began with scissors. First, clipping away a thin lock of hair pony-tailed to the side. Then, with vibrating buzz cutters, she steered a path down the centre of her head.

“The first cut was terrifying,” she says. “But I quickly realized that I wouldn’t have to live with the shock of my hair constantly falling out anymore. It was liberating.”

Starting at the end of 2024, every time Alannah used a brush, took off a hat, or showered, handfuls of hair would fall out. “What was left was so brittle and delicate, I was afraid to touch it. The clumps in my hands — I didn’t know why it was falling out,” she says.

Between training for the Paris Olympics and qualifying events, Alannah visited specialists to uncover what was going on. Over a month later, she found her answer: Alopecia universalis, an autoimmune condition that causes complete hair loss.

“I never realized how my hair was a part of my identity. It connected me to my Chinese heritage, to my grandmother. It was beautiful. And it was disintegrating right in front of me.”

In the initial stages of her alopecia, Alannah felt a range of emotions: Grief, anger, isolation. With any chronic condition there is a non-linear, reoccurring process of mourning one’s former identity and the continuous work of learning to accept and adapt to this new way of being.

When the condition is physical, there is a sensation of being put on a stage. “Feeling the weight of increased eyes,” Alannah says, “was enhanced because of climbing. Competing made me feel as if more people were watching me.”

Since age 9, Alannah has competed in climbing and knows the pressure of the spotlight — knows the reality of being alone on the wall, front and centre, with all eyes following her upwards as she moves from hold to hold.

“Getting nervous about an entire audience watching you is something that every competitive climber goes through,” she says. In essence, this can happen to any climber at the gym or at the crag who decides to venture up a climb.

“I never realized how my hair was a part of my identity. It connected me to my Chinese heritage, to my grandmother. It was beautiful. And it was disintegrating right in front of me.”

Total focus is necessary to perform at your peak. Negative thoughts, fears, and worries — these distractions cause chaos. And as Alannah’s hair fell out, there was a moment when she arrived at a crossroad.

“This was happening — my hair was falling out, and I knew that even if I qualified for Paris, my competition career was coming to an end. I’d made that decision (that this would be my last event). How did I want to show up? Who did I want to be?”

The sudden change to her physical appearance and the fact that she might not qualify for Paris left Alannah navigating deeply held assumptions of beauty, identity, and self-worth.

“For women, people with alopecia, and people of colour, the pressure to adhere to a cultural standard of beauty is enhanced,” she says “And hair, in our culture, holds significance. It’s a symbol of beauty. When a woman loses her hair so many things happen. I’ve been misgendered. I’ve been asked, why don’t you wear a wig. People assume I’m sick.”

Shaving her head was a moment of clarity. “With my thinning hair, I didn’t feel like myself anymore. The decision to shave my head felt like a fresh start.”

“This was happening — my hair was falling out. How did I want to show up? Who did I want to be?”

But it was just that: A beginning.

“When I shaved my head, I naively thought that I would pretty much be done with alopecia.
Instead, what followed was months of emotional rollercoaster. Some days I felt great and empowered. Other days, all I could think about was wanting my hair back. The worst thing was the split second of not recognizing myself in the mirror.”

The choice to shave her head (versus wearing a wig) was a deeply personal one. And each person with alopecia makes the decision that best fits them. “Our cultural views of beauty and femininity are quite entangled with hair. It took me a while to feel comfortable and confident in my skin post hair loss.”

Alopecia, added to the stress of trying to qualify for the Olympics, forced Alannah into action. “Being on the competitive stage without hair was initially more uncomfortable for me than I anticipated, but it forced me to reckon with my discomfort and work through those feelings. I didn’t have a choice — if I wanted to try to qualify for the Olympics again, I needed to reshape my thoughts. Pulling back on my Olympic goal because I was afraid of how I looked was not an option for me.”

So, Alannah went to work. Connecting with sports psychologist Dr. John Coleman, she began to ask important questions: Are you doing it out of fear or out of love? Who do you want to be at the other end of this experience?

“If I was going to wear a wig, it would’ve been to hide. I didn’t want to hide.”

To go along with these questions, Dr. Coleman gave Alannah an assignment to do every day: Look into the mirror and say, hello, beautiful.

“I’m the same person with or without hair…actually, I think I’m a better Alannah now,”

This phrase came to Alannah days before her last comp. “I walked by a window to a workout area, waved at a friend, and then continued until I came to another window where I saw a bald person. My initial gut reaction was negative. But then I realized it wasn’t a window I was looking into but a mirror. I walked down the hall, shocked at the sight of myself. Turning a corner, lost in thought, I bumped into another friend. She hadn’t seen me without hair, yet she recognized me immediately. Smiling, she said, ‘Oh hello, beautiful.’”

“Saying hello, beautiful to myself was a surprisingly difficult task,” Alannah says. “But it had a huge impact.”

For Alannah, it was a journey of learning that who we are is not purely our physical traits, but the stories we carry, the joy and creativity we exude, the way we show up, the kindness we pass on to others, and the acknowledgment that it’s not always easy but that the wounds are where the light shines through.

Walking onto the bouldering pads at the Shanghai Olympic Qualifying event with a shaved head for the first time, Alannah decided to reframe the reason she climbed. She decided to climb with joy and curiosity.

“Alopecia, combined with trying to qualify for the Olympics, forced me to look at and see myself more clearly — to decide how I wanted to live and who I wanted to be moving forward.”

Alannah smiled at the start hold. She smiled at the route. Then she started up. « I let my body move my body. It was fun again. »

Alannah didn’t qualify for the Paris Olympics, but after all these years on the wall, she finally understood what climbing had given her — “a huge appreciation for what my body can do and for who I am holistically.”

“I’m the same person, with or without hair…actually, I think I’m a better Alannah now,” she says. “Alopecia forced me to prioritize and think about what I value in myself. It made me think deeply about beauty and investigate my own views on it. The most beautiful things about a person have nothing to do with the way they look. They have everything to do with how they act, how they treat others, and how they pursue joy in their lives.”

The duality of Alannah’s journey — being diagnosed with alopecia while deciding to end her competitive climbing career — allowed her a sense of freedom she hasn’t known for a long time. New hobbies appeared. New friendships formed. New passions took root and she started to cultivate more sides of herself and better understand who she is as a person.

“I can’t say that I love my bald head every moment of every day, but I’m getting there. These days, feeling positive or at least neutral about it far outweighs the negative feelings. I’m learning to truly accept myself. And that’s refreshing. That’s progress.”