I knew I shouldn’t have even opened this can of worms. Last post, I mentioned an unfortunate phase that my hair and I went through. The Platinum Phase. Or more accurately, the wannabe Platinum Phase. Because while my hair did occasionally look like this:
It more often than not looked like THIS:
Ignore those extra 15 pounds clinging to my cheeks in that picture. I was stress-eating…because of the hair and all. And that there is my dad. Hi Dad! He doesn’t actually own a computer, so I guess I’m talking to myself. Anyway, in the in-between brunette and blonde phases, it looked (tragically) like this:
Yikes. The guy pointing in the direction of my boobs is our college friend and soon-to-be groomsman, Brian. Hi Brian!
It all started with my fancy-pants Russian hairdresser posing this question to me one fateful day: “You vant be blunde? I make you blunde in few quick appointvents.” By quick and few she meant appointments that were 4-5 hours each spread over a period of about 9 months. Seriously. I could have had a child in the time it took me to become blonde. And the cost! OH MY GOD the cost. Not to mention the annoyance of having bleach dumped onto my head and left there to sit and burn my scalp for extended periods of time. Ouch.
The whole point of this blog is for me to (hopefully) learn stuff and pass those experiences on to you. So here’s what I learned: Being an unnatural blonde can be fun on occasion. I do think I got a bit more attention as a blonde, but only in the way that yellow stoplights draw more attention than green stoplights. My hair was shouting, “Hey! Notice me! I’m neon!!!” I could probably have gotten the added attention, if I really wanted it, by wearing a tutu out in public or walking around in a pleather corset. There are easier ways of getting noticed than spending a fortune at a trendy salon. And the hassle of ever getting it to actually look good – from deep conditioners to numerous styling products – was not worth it at all. I have a number of friends who are happy bleach blondes, but I personally will never bleach my hair again. From now on, I’ll stick with being my regular old, plain boring brunette self – spending less time in the salon, and more time doing what I do best: having fun.
Oh, and one last thing I learned: while going from brunette to blonde may be difficult, returning back to brunette is a cinch. That fancy-pants Russian hairdresser made me wait at the salon for her for almost an hour and a half when I had an appointment one day, so (ticked off and feeling rebellious), I stormed out of there. I marched straight to Rite Aid and bought myself a box of Dark Brown Clairol Nice-n-Easy, taking matters into my own hands while blaring Twisted Sister‘s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” in my tiny one-bedroom apartment. My at-home dye job was a tad bit spotty, but I felt incredible none the less. I had another stylist fix it up professionally a week later and never looked back.