My friend Terry once joked that I change my hair color more often than he changes his underwear. It’s funny in a gross sort of way (because, ewwww, do some more laundry dude!), but it’s also true that I used to dye my hair a lot.
Of course, I also started high school looking like Smurfette (Dyed my hair blue, it dripped, I had blonde hair and blue skin. It looked loverly). So, you know, I haven’t always made the best choices when it’s come to my hair color. But, it’s always been interesting.
I’ve had pink hair, blue hair, jet black hair, purple hair, streaked hair, etc. I’ve also had it more “natural” colors (red, blonde, etc).
Lately, I’ve been rocking a very light red color with some cool streaks. It looked ok…. if you didn’t happen to notice the top five or so inches of my hair. Hair that grows really fast + not going back to get it touched up = OH MY GOD FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR ROOTS!
See?
Before picture: enhanced by taking it with a grainy camera phone, unflattering angle and angry expression.
Today, the rootiliciosity of my hair was quenched by a four hour session at my Salon where a lovely stylist named Colby dyed my hair back to an approximation of its natural color and added highlights. The best part? Colby is training to become a full stylist. She used me as a guinea pig, so I didn’t have to pay for my dye job (I did, however, give her a very nice tip). Colby was great. I give her an A+.
Not since I went to the Semi Beauty Parlour (where they completely misunderstood what color I asked for) has my hair been so close to the way that it would look like if I didn’t have a pathological addiction to fucking with what nature gave me.
After picture: further enhanced by using my good camera, having Kristian take it from a flattering angle, smiling and using soft lighting. Also: cleavage. The fly-aways? I can’t do much about those. It’s raining out right now and the combination of having my hair blown out (which looked incredible… other girls were shooting me dirty glances with no provocation, so I know it looked good) plus the humidity means that, as of me writing this, I now have full-on country/western hair. I’m serious. Knock me up and take away my shoes and I could be singing about that man that left me, my dog that died, and the fact that my truck won’t start.
The soft lighting doesn’t really show them, but I have some very foxy highlights.
I like it a lot. I don’t have to worry about my roots growing in and making me look like Courtney Love. The fun highlights mean that I don’t feel like I’ve sold my sold to the man (besides, they can take my purple hair, but they can never take… my tattoos!). Kristian says that I look older, “in a good way.” The picture doesn’t really do it justice, but it looks very soft and pretty.
The best part? The salon says that I can come back and offer up my hair for junior stylists to practice on anytime that I want. Next time? I’m asking for purple. š
