It’s been fifteen years since I had my first taste of the dye bottle – and I remember, even at thirteen years old knowing that I’d never be able to give it up. I haven’t touched the stuff since my positive pregnancy test, and if I have to look at my same boring faded out brown hair color in the mirror for one more day I think I’m gonna puke…and not just from the hormones.
I wish I could track down a photo of every color I’ve tried, but I’ve never been that good at keeping track of things. I’ve chopped it. I’ve permed it. I’ve had bangs. I’ve grown them out. I’ve been black, I’ve been blonde, I’ve been plum, I’ve been bubblegum pink…I’ve been every shade short of chartreuse (I’ve even had that weird bleached on top black on the bottom look that Ricki Lake rocked in Hairspray) and for once I don’t know where to go from here. I’m coming up on a new stage of my life, and that’s always meant a new look for my locks…So what’s next for me?
Feed Me Seymour
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