Hard Cap Wigs, Survival & Cherry Blossoms

All week I’ve felt compelled to write.

My life recently has been an absolute whirlwind of lessons — one after another being hurled into my existence. Lessons that are forcing me to find my true voice and finally master myself as an artist.

I’m a 33-year-old woman who built Studio Loz with absolutely zero support around me. I built this brand from nothing. I’ve made more mistakes than most people probably ever will — but every single time, I’ve owned them.

I fucked up?

I reflected.

I learnt.

I did better.

Every. Single. Time.

And that’s one thing I will always say about myself: I learn. I will continue learning until the day I die.

I’ve built a brand around myself because it is me. I am Loz. As it stands, there is no team. I do my own admin, my own making, my own sourcing, my own EVERYTHING.

And regardless of any bad nature thrown my way over the years, I am proud of myself. Deeply proud of myself.

Most importantly because I have done everything with heart.

This week, lessons came in abundance, and somehow I found myself completely catapulted into the beautiful art of cherry blossoms.

Sounds dramatic, right?

But I went for a walk and stopped dead in my tracks beneath a cherry blossom tree. I stood there watching the petals fall onto my shoulders and into my hair, and suddenly I felt emotional. Like time had paused for a moment. It honestly felt dreamlike.

Since then, I’ve become fixated on them — the way they fall, what they represent, the beauty in their impermanence.

Then I looked around my studio and realised I’d actually been collecting cherry blossoms for years without even noticing. Hanging on my keys are old Murakami x Louis Vuitton cherry blossom keyrings — my favourite fashion collaboration ever — sitting there like little signs I’d ignored all this time.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

I started making flowers and cherry blossoms out of hair — you’ll have seen them on my profile. It’s now leading into a Regency-inspired wig I’m creating while I delve back into history again. And with my love for Japanese culture, I found myself thinking, of course all the flowers have to be cherry blossoms.

Then I looked deeper into their spiritual meaning.

Impermanence.

Renewal.

The beauty of fleeting things.

A reminder that nothing blooms forever, and there is beauty in slowing down enough to witness something while it exists.

That hit me hard.

Because for years I’ve been running Studio Loz in survival mode. Chasing the next payment to cover rent. Constantly trying to stabilise the ground beneath me.

Pantomime is notorious for impossible deadlines. I’ve had clients come to me in desperation and I’ve created three of the biggest wigs I’ve ever made in five days. Last year I made six wigs in three days.

I can work fast.

But when speed becomes the priority, perfection doesn’t.

I’ve spent most of my life under pressure and impossible deadlines and, if I’m being completely honest, my work reflects that sometimes.

Something has to change.

I can’t do it anymore.

I don’t want to do it anymore.

My soul physically will not allow me to anymore.

I am one human being. I am an artist. And my entire life and creative practice has to slow down.

People judge artists purely on the final outcome without ever considering the circumstances surrounding the work. The exhaustion. The pressure. The survival.

And yes, I took on those jobs because clients were desperate — but also because I was trying to survive too. At the time, I genuinely felt I had to.

But as I move forward in my craft… as I begin developing my true voice as an artist and creator… as my body slowly starts coming out of fight-or-flight mode… I’m realising everything has to be done differently now.

I cannot create my best work within the deadlines people think are acceptable.

I am a handmade maker.

I am human.

I am not a machine or a superhero.

I hold a beautiful skill in my hands — one I am deeply proud of — and I need TIME to truly honour it.

This life, and the way we choose to live here in England, has got to slow down.

Because this week I’ve created some of my best work simply because I finally had space. Time to breathe. Time to think. Time to flow.

You cannot flow when you are constantly surviving.

And I’m finally learning that forcing was never the same thing as flowing.

This chapter of my life is about starving the noise.

The noise of competition.

The noise of comparison.

The noise that tells artists they must constantly rush, produce, prove and survive in order to be worthy.

For so long I created from fear.

Fear of missing opportunities.

Fear of falling behind.

Fear that if I slowed down, everything I had built would disappear beneath me.

But I’m beginning to realise that what is truly aligned with me will never require me to abandon myself to receive it.

What is meant for me will not pass me by.

Every rejection has redirected me somewhere deeper. Somewhere closer to my real voice. Every lesson — even the painful ones — has shaped me into the artist I am becoming.

I no longer want to create from urgency.

I want to create from intention.

From softness.

From presence.

From truth.

I am not here to compete with anybody else.

I am here to master myself.

To honour my craft.

To slow down enough to actually hear my own ideas.

To create work that feels alive because I had the time to breathe life into it.

Cherry blossoms have followed me everywhere this week, almost like little reminders from the universe itself.

They do not rush their becoming.

They simply arrive when it is time.

And maybe that is the lesson I needed most.

Not everything valuable is built in chaos.

Not everything meaningful has to hurt.

Not everything beautiful needs to be rushed.

Maybe my art will become its most powerful the moment I stop creating from survival mode and start creating from alignment instead.

This chapter is not about becoming louder.

It’s about becoming clearer.

Clearer in my vision.

Clearer in my boundaries.

Clearer in the artist I know I am meant to be.