In her new project, Plaukai, photographer Francesca Allen travels to rural Lithuania to document the world’s longest hair competition
Three figures stand with their backs to the camera, each framed by waves of hair that reach towards the floor like thick curtains. Their posture is poised and still, almost sculptural, as their matching locks become the focal point of the image (shown above). “I love this photo of a mother, Vaida, and her two twin daughters,” says Francesca Allen, a London-based photographer who travelled to Lithuania to document Lithuania’s world’s longest hair competition, known locally as Konkursas Pasaulio Ilgaplaukés. “I actually wanted to photograph them outside, but a lot of people were reluctant as it was so cold. We really did try to convince everyone, but it wasn’t so easy, understandably! I’ve ended up really loving this photo, though. I’m in touch with Vaida and I would love to photograph them all again.”
Once a year, the world’s longest hair competition (or Konkursas Pasaulio Ilgaplaukés) draws around 200 women and girls from across the country, many of whom have never cut their hair. Some arrive with braids thick as rope, others with curls that pool at their feet. Similar to the workings of a pageant, the contestants strut down runways and are judged on their costumes, hairstyles and, crucially, the length. But there’s also a deeper meaning beyond the glamour. In Baltic folklore, and Lithuania especially, long hair is seen as a symbol of identity and femininity. It can be a mark of honour, often braided or worn loose in line with the wearer’s life experiences. For example, unbraided hair often signifies a girl’s unmarried status, while braiding can also mark coming-of-age or pre-wedding rituals. In pre-Christian Baltic cultures, hair was believed to possess sacred qualities and was connected to a person’s spiritual energy. Cutting it was associated with mourning, punishment or loss. And women’s hair in particular was thought to represent cosmic balance and fertility, tied to natural cycles of the moon. Today, hair still remains to be incredibly symbolic and beholds a strong connection to the past, brought vividly to life in gatherings like this one.
Allen first discovered the contest as a teenager on Tumblr, where she came across an image from a 1992 event that stayed with her for over a decade. “This image was somehow seared in my mind and I always remembered it,” she says. “I had actually started planning the project in 2019, but, of course, it never ended up happening.” Drawn initially to the surreal visual of women parading hair down a runway, she travelled to Lithuania with a friend (who’s also Lithuanian) to see it for herself. Plaukai – meaning “hair” in Lithuanian – is the result: a series and accompanying book of soft and gorgeously lit portraits taken in the thick of rehearsals, the rush of the show and the in-between moments of familial downtime.
Before now, Allen’s work has documented themes of youth and femininity, often capturing women in moments of ease and vulnerability. Her earlier projects, such as Aya (2018) and I’d like to get to know you (2022), focused on the nuances of female friendship and coming-of-age, framed through sun-drenched natural light and gentle, candid compositions. She’s photographed friends, lovers and strangers alike, always with a knack for gesture and atmosphere. Over the years, her subjects have expanded to include beauty campaigns, fashion stories and portraiture, but the connective thread of curiosity has always remained – how people relate to themselves and one another.
Lately, though, her practice has undergone a shift. “The past few years I wasn’t enjoying taking photos; I had been feeling quite lost for some time,” she admits. “Work was slow and I was trying to make things to please other people.” Feeling disconnected, she gravitated towards a simpler and more instinctive approach, prompted by a new camera. “Shooting this project has shifted the way I like to work almost back towards how it was when I first started taking photos as a teenager,” she says. “It’s totally freeing. (The new camera) has autofocus and I can work much faster than I’m used to. I feel like I can go into any situation with this camera and make a great image. I don’t need to overcomplicate things, and the light doesn’t need to be perfect.”
“I have always been hung up on light, and often only shoot personal work in the summer. I thought that I couldn’t really take beautiful photos without natural light, so I would often end up in the studio where I have more control. Shooting in Lithuania in November, where it was so dark in the day my camera was barely focusing, has taught me that my photos are special for a different reason; more than just the lighting.”
The making of Plaukai was fast-paced and, at times, technically nerve-wracking. On the morning of the competition, Allen quickly realised her ISO 400 film wasn’t going to hold up in the low winter light, even outdoors. “I decided to expose it all at 800 and ask the lab to push it,” she explains, referring to the technique where underexposed film is corrected during development. “I haven’t pushed film much before and I was absolutely terrified when I dropped my film off at the lab – I was just praying that I did everything correctly.” Despite the risks, the decision paid off, giving the series a textured, slightly heightened atmosphere that matches the surrealism of the event itself.
The project also came together thanks in large part to her friend Karolina, a Lithuanian native who organised the trip, secured access and helped bridge the language gap between Allen and her subjects. Working together on the ground, they navigated the busy, sometimes chaotic energy of the day, asking women for portraits on the fly. While Allen initially approached the competition because, in her words, “it just looked amazing”, the experience sparked a deeper connection and a desire to return. “I already knew that it wouldn’t be enough to go once,” she says. “So I’m going back this year and I can’t wait.”
The event brought together toddlers with floor-length plaits, teenage girls weighing up whether to keep or cut their hair, and older women who had carried this ritual for decades. Seeing those moments of decision – where modern life brushes up against folklore – was, for Allen, unexpectedly moving. “I was really touched by the generational gaps,” she says. “The past and future of every girl in there drawn together by their dedication, their identity tied together by their hair.” As well as holding a deep personal connection, Allen also hopes that Plaukai will give her audience a glimpse into an unusual tradition, and will be seen as the start of a new shift in her creative process. “This project is incredibly important to me, but maybe not for the obvious reasons,” she says. “I think it has given me a new direction and way of creating work that feels much freer. I have a very fickle relationship with photography; I fall in and out of love with it all of the time. It gives me incredible highs but also makes me feel very vulnerable.”
Plaukai is being exhibited from 18-25 June 2025 at Allotment, London
