Gail Porter: 'I lost everything including all my hair but now I've fallen in love'

Daily Mirror

26-07-2025

Presenter and campaigner Gail Porter reveals how she has come out the other side of depression, alopecia and homelessness to find a whole new purpose and love for life
Gail Porter is having a moment. At 54, the TV presenter and mental health campaigner sounds almost overwhelmed as she reflects on how far she's come, as she chats exclusively to the Mirror.
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'I'm 100% happy,' she says. 'I've got my cat. My daughte r's doing brilliantly — she's 22 now, finished uni and is working. I'm working, too, mostly charity stuff, and often for free, but I still worry about the next paid job. After being sectioned and homeless, I feel very lucky. I have great friends.'
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But Gail's smile falters as she remembers hitting rock bottom. In April 2011, aged 40, she was sectioned under a 28‑day order at a North London psychiatric unit near Hampstead.
'It was terrifying,' she admits. 'I was drugged up to my eyeballs, sharing a ward with men convinced they were Jesus, and violent patients. It felt like One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.'
In 2014, she found herself truly alone — sofa‑surfing for half a year, then sleeping rough on a bench in Hampstead Heath. 'I'd applied for library jobs and charity shop shifts. People said, 'You can't do that — you're Gail Porter!' I just wanted someone to give me a chance. Instead, I ended up on a bench thinking I'd had enough.'
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It was a close call. A worried boyfriend alerted the police, fearing Gail might harm herself. 'Four officers walked up and said, 'Someone's very concerned for your safety. We're taking you to the hospital.' I kicked off. I was furious, but I was desperate,' she says.
Before these darkest days, Gail had known other tough losses. She was 30 when she married Toploader guitarist Dan Hipgrave in August 2001, and their daughter, Honey, arrived in September 2002. The marriage ended in separatio n by late 2004, and divorce followed in 2007. 'I've been married once,' she sighs. 'That was enough.'
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Before that, Gail had a whirlwind fling with the late Keith Flint of The Prodigy. 'He was intense and exciting, but it wasn't meant to be,' she says.
Her career was soaring in the late 90s, hosting Top Of The Pops and The Big Breakfast, and appearing on magazine covers. Then, in 2005, her hair began to fall out in clumps.
Diagnosed with alopecia, she refused to wear wigs. 'Friends said, 'You're beautiful bald,' and for a while, I felt invincible, but work dried up. I got asked to do interviews about being bald — unpaid, because you're talking about an 'illness'. I thought, 'This is going to be a bit s***.''
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The hair loss coincided with anorexia and depression, and her once‑busy diary was blank. 'I lost everything — my house, my career, my confidence,' she admits.
In her memoir‑in‑progress, Gail describes crying alone in Soho doorways, terrified that the next gig would be her last. Yet today, she believes she has the best of both worlds. After climbing back from bankruptcy in 2017, and making a Bafta‑winning BBC documentary, Being Gail Porter, in 2020, Gail is finally steady. She's renting again in North London, but still mindful of bills.
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'It's awful out there. I work with Fair For You [a not-for-profit online lending company] to help people pay back loans without crippling interest, and with the Samaritans over the winter, because I know that darkness. Everyone's one missed payday from disaster,' she says.
When it comes to romance, Gail is unequivocal. 'I don't date. In the 90s, you'd go out, have a few drinks, maybe meet someone. Now, it's all apps and swipes — I can't be bothered. I go to Soho, meet friends, maybe sneak off to a gig, and that's enough.'
Her tone hardens at the memory of intrusive remarks. 'I've had dodgy comments — 'Where's your hair? Why no wig?' Sometimes I reply, 'Why didn't you wear better deodorant?' But 95% of people are kind. I love hugs — I get so many lovely hugs.'
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Gail's laugh breaks as she jokes about her frail eyelashes, fingers tracing her brow. 'I look like a massive baby with boobs. My lashes have grown back recently, and I save a fortune on mascara. I even microbladed my brows — they were too dark, so I bleached them at home. Complete chaos!'
She's protective of her looks. 'I had my boobs reduced years ago because they were massive and my back hurt, but that's all the surgery I've ever had. I don't want anyone touching my face. I want to grow old my way.'
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She reflects on the n otorious February 1999 FHM photo shoot. 'They airbrushed me to within an inch of my life. Young girls looked at that and thought, 'Wish I had a body like that.' They probably took off a stone. They didn't pay me, made a fortune, projected it on to the side of the Houses of Parliament, and left me to deal with it. I don't even have a copy!'
Fortunately, not all photo shoots she has taken part in have had such an infamous impact. Recently, Gail shot a campaign for Amber Jean Rowan's conscious‑sourcing wig brand. "Amber's brilliant — she gets alopecia. People say, 'Gail, you said you'd never wear a wig,' and I went 20 years without one, but now there's a choice. The first time I put on The Gail, my custom wig, I fell in love.
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'It felt odd at first, but it's so similar to my old hair that it felt exhilarating. It's not about covering anything up — it's self‑expression. I now have the freedom to change my look whenever I fancy. I have the best of both worlds!'
The Gail launches just ahead of Hair Loss Awareness Month in August. 'It became the best seller in the Amber Jean collection. I'm still proud of embracing baldness, but now I can also play with style.'
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Gail's journey is a testament to what she calls 'the brutal beauty of starting over'. She's hosting Q&As on Princess Cruises, touring her stand‑up, and raising awareness of homelessness with Prince William 's Homewards campaign. She's even planning a second memoir, already optioned for film.
'I've been at rock bottom, from sleeping on a bench to standing on a cruise stage, it's proof we get through,' she says. 'You don't need therapy if you find your therapy. Mine is a spin class. When I was at my worst, I paid £100 for unlimited classes for two weeks and did two rides a day. My friends say I look so fit and happy. It's my lifeline.'
Her story is not one of bravery, Gail insists, but of survival. 'I hate it when people say, 'Poor Gail,' or 'Gail, you're so brave.' I'm not brave. I wake up, put one foot in front of the other, and here I am. That's all anyone can do.'