I love Elizabeth’s work, and yet I know how much hair can change an editorial. I wanted to hear all about it: the progress, the evolution, and of course, the secret rules of hair that speak volumes.
a: I’m always surprised by how much of the mood of a picture can sit in the hair. Did you always see it that way, or did that come with time?
Elizabeth: Yes, you’ve actually picked up on something that has always been very important to me. I’ve always seen hair as one of the most powerful tools in creating an image, both in real life and on set. Hair has its own shape, texture, volume, and movement, and all of these can completely transform the silhouette and mood of a photograph. The wrong hairstyle can undermine even a strong concept because hair isn’t simply an accessory — it’s an extension of the body. The way it frames the face, how the volume is distributed, and the texture you choose can completely change the feeling of an image.
Another important aspect is the historical language of hair. If you study fashion history, sometimes you don’t even need to see the clothes to recognize the period an image is referencing — the hairstyle alone can be enough. Hair carries cultural and visual associations, which makes it a powerful storytelling tool.
That’s why I sometimes feel the role of the hairstylist is underestimated. If the hair doesn’t support the mood, concept, and visual language of the shoot, the whole idea can fall apart.
I started working with hair very early, when I was around fifteen or sixteen. Even then, inspired by editorials and fashion shows, I understood that a hairstyle could transform not only the image itself, but also the character the model communicates in front of the camera.
That’s why I always tell my students that it’s important to study more than just technique — to explore fashion history and develop a strong visual vocabulary. The more knowledge and references you have, the more intentionally you can work with shape, texture, and mood. Ultimately, a strong image comes from the harmony between clothing, accessories, makeup, and hair. For me, hair has never been just the finishing touch — it has always been part of the visual language of the image.
a: What did you have to unlearn for the work to start feeling more like yours? Was there something you used to chase that you don’t care about anymore?
Elizabeth: I think one of the biggest things I had to unlearn was the need to compete with other people. A huge part of my early life in hair was built around competitions. I started competing while I was still in school — first in my hometown, then in Moscow, and eventually internationally. I won competitions in Portugal with my hair collections, received international awards, including the Hairdressing Oscar, and for years, competition was simply the environment in which I grew as an artist.
And in many ways, I’m incredibly grateful for that experience. Competition gave me an extraordinary technical foundation. It taught me speed, discipline, precision, and how to understand and construct shape. You train constantly, so your eye and your hands become incredibly strong. But there was another side to it that took me years to recognize.
When you grow up in competitions, you are constantly being taught that you have to be better than someone else. You have to outperform your competitors. You have to prove yourself. You have to win. And even after I ended my competition career, that mentality stayed with me for several years. There was always this inner critic saying, “Look, your colleague did something better. You need to do more. You need to work harder. You need to be better.”
When you grow up in competitions, you are constantly being taught that you have to be better than someone else. You have to outperform your competitors. You have to prove yourself. You have to win. And even after I ended my competition career, that mentality stayed with me for several years. There was always this inner critic saying, “Look, your colleague did something better. You need to do more. You need to work harder. You need to be better.”
Every hair artist, makeup artist, photographer, or designer has lived a completely different life. We all carry our own experiences from childhood, our positive and negative experiences, our education, the people we’ve met, the things we’ve seen, and the different disciplines we’ve explored. Eventually, all of that becomes a unique way of seeing the world — and a unique combination of skills that nobody else can reproduce in exactly the same way.
I often compare hair artists to fashion designers. You have designers creating something radically avant-garde, like Rick Owens or Alexander McQueen. Then you have houses such as Dior or Chanel, with their own interpretation of timelessness and classic beauty. And you have designers who constantly experiment with contemporary ideas, textures, shapes, and colors. None of them needs to become the other. Each has their own language and their own audience. I believe it’s exactly the same with hair artists. There is space — and there are clients — for every authentic creative language.
So today, I no longer care about being better than my colleagues. The only person I really want to compete with is the person I was yesterday. I want to keep refining my skills, filling myself with new knowledge and experiences, discovering new techniques through my own practice, and learning from people who genuinely inspire me. I still have that competitive energy in me, but now I try to direct it differently. It’s no longer about proving that I’m better than someone else. It’s about becoming a stronger, more knowledgeable, more complete version of myself as an artist.
a: What’s a beauty idea you used to believe in and now find completely boring?
Elizabeth: Okay, first of all, I have to apologize in advance to all the bridal hairstylists out there. When I started my career, while I was still in high school in the early 2010s, bridal hair was one of the first areas I worked in. At the time, I genuinely loved romantic curls, soft updos, Hollywood waves — all those delicate, slightly undone textures. And I still believe that this kind of commercial, romantic aesthetic is a great starting point for a young hairstylist.
But as I began to study hair more deeply, along with fashion and art history, I started to feel limited by that aesthetic. I wanted to experiment more with shape, texture, and references. At some point, endless variations of curls and romantic updos simply stopped feeling creatively challenging to me.
Today, I still occasionally work with brides because I live in Milan, not far from Lake Como, where weddings are happening all the time. But my approach to bridal work has changed completely. I’m no longer so interested in creating a “bridal hairstyle” as such — I’m much more interested in the personality of the bride herself. Who is she? What is she wearing? What is the atmosphere of the wedding? What will make her feel beautiful while still feeling completely like herself?
So today, bridal work feels almost like a creative break for me. I don’t feel the need to experiment for the sake of experimentation or to prove anything. I simply enjoy understanding the person in front of me and creating something beautiful, harmonious, and genuinely right for her on such a special day.
a: Can hair be too perfect to be sexy?
You won’t believe it, but I’m actually writing my Master’s thesis at my Italian university right now, and the topic is Hair as Fetish. So your question is surprisingly close to what I’ve been researching recently. While looking through different sources, I realized that hair, regardless of its texture, can become an object of desire — even a fetish — especially in fashion photography. Hair is particularly interesting because it combines visual and imagined tactile qualities. We can see softness, density, wetness, smoothness or shine and, at the same time, imagine how it would feel to touch.
Unlike many other parts of the body, hair can also be shown almost without restriction. You don’t need nudity to create a sense of intimacy or eroticism. A close-up of wet hair, a certain shine or texture, or hair moving across the skin can sometimes create even more sensuality than showing the body itself.
So, coming back to your question, I don’t really think hair can be “too perfect to be sexy.” I don’t think there is one particular texture — perfect or imperfect, polished or messy — that makes hair sexy by itself. What matters much more is how it is presented and what kind of desire the image creates.
So for me, sexiness isn’t really about “perfect” hair. It’s about what the image makes you imagine.
a: What’s your most obsessive little fix on set?
Elizabeth: It really depends on the hairstyle. When you’re working with hair on set, especially loose hair, you have to remember that hair behaves almost like fabric. It can look perfect in one frame — the shape, texture, and lines are exactly where you want them — and then the model turns her head or looks down, and everything changes.
So there isn’t one tiny detail I’m obsessed with fixing. It’s more about constantly watching how the hair behaves in the frame. Sometimes I’m literally running onto the set to adjust it after the smallest movement. Hair is always moving and changing its shape, so for me, it’s about staying completely focused and making sure it looks intentional in every shot.
a: What’s the one tiny hair detail that makes a woman look instantly more expensive on camera?
Elizabeth: For me, it’s always the appearance of healthy, luminous hair, regardless of the length, shape, or texture. That natural shine instantly makes an image feel more polished, beautiful, and expensive, because we’re naturally drawn to signs of beauty and health.
Of course, some looks call for more matte, undone, or slightly messy textures, and I love that sense of natural imperfection too. But even then, I always try to keep a subtle element of gloss in the hair — that glimpse of healthy shine that catches the light. For me, that tiny detail can elevate the entire image.
