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?
So, I’ve gone and changed my hair color again, although this time I’m pretty sure I know what brought on the drastic decision to yet again chop and dye my hair armed with only what I could find on aisle twelve at my neighborhood Ralph’s.
2009 already looks to be a year of challenges and transitions, although I hope to rise to the occasion and also make it a year of great accomplishment and new beginnings.
I’m calling this look “recession hair.” When you hit the dye bottle as hard as I do, you start to learn a thing or two. I’ve learned that dark hair is the best for concealing a crappy haircut or uneven color. While the red was fun for a while, I had started to feel like a crazy European divorcée whenever I’d go out uncoiffed, and with all those years of peroxide underneath, I’d end up having to re-color on a bi-monthly basis.
By the time I impatiently took the shears to my own head (three years of wedding hair got sucked up by the Dyson – it never loses suction) there was no turning back. There’s a reason I’d spent the last five years paying 80$ a haircut. Turning your head upside down and chopping upwards with your crafting scissors does not achieve the desired effect.
Ten minutes in the bathroom with Clairol’s new miracle product Perfect 10 later, (and a few more snips with the shears) my formerly long blond hair, turned mid-length red hair is now officially short choppy not-quite-black hair. I’m back in black. And now, I leave you with a song:
So, yesterday I decided to go RED. I even dyed my eyebrows. (It’s quite convincing, actually.)
Anyway – I’ve been thinking a lot lately about hair color, and the role it’s played in my life. What started with a little innocent spritz of Sun-In in the sixth grade, quickly became a life long love affair with color. From there, it was everything from fire-engine red, to plum delight, to black, to blonde, and back again.
But why the constant changes? Really, I have no idea – most of the time it’s nothing more than boredom, or to cover up the last dye-job gone wrong, and sometimes I just bought a new blue shirt that I think would look really good with Red hair.
Or maybe it’s because my dear, sweet Ange moved to Iowa, and I just need a little ginger in my life.
Whatever the reason, I can’t help but be curious – would retracing my follicular steps tell me something new and interesting about who I am as a person? Or would it just be a horrifying rehashing of my formative years chock full of bad aesthetic choices?
So, yesterday I decided to go RED. I even dyed my eyebrows. (It’s quite convincing, actually.)
