I really hate the way my hair looks right now (ladies, I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from), so please indulge me on a completely unnecessary post.
When I was 23, I decided to go full blonde. I’d had highlights for several years, but wanted to take them a step further. I think everyone who has had highlights has done this at least once. You keep requesting more until you have a head full of blonde hair. After the first couple of times, I was hooked.
When people found out I was a natural brunette, they often asked me if blondes have more fun. I don’t think the amount of fun you have is contingent on your hair color. But that being said, I really loved being blonde. Sure, it was high-maintenance and pricey, but I really enjoyed it. I always got a kick out the fact that many assumed I was a natural blonde. They’d do a double take when they would see my driver’s license – I was not quite 18 when I took the picture, so I looked like a different person with my dark chestnut hair. One cashier at HEB was convinced I had a fake ID. More than one bouncer told me they liked me better as a blonde (er, thanks?)
The thing about being blonde is it’s absolute death to your hair. The longer I stayed a blonde, the more platinum my hair color became. One stylist lied to my face and told me that the chunks of blonde hair falling out were not mine (of course they were). Then last fall, my hair took some really bad damage. A stylist really messed up on my highlights. She put toner in my hair at least 4 or 5 times. My pain tolerance is middling (I’m no Xena Warrior Princess, but I’m not a wuss either) – but I was close to hysterical by the last rinse because I felt like my scalp was on fire. Chunks of my hair had burned off and my scalp had scabs on it.
Ever since then, I’ve been struggling to grow my hair back. It is one of the main reasons why I decided to become a brunette again. I’m happy I’ve embraced my natural color, but sometimes I wish I had never messed with my hair. I mean, look at this. LOOK AT THIS (ignore the horrible eyebrows while you do):
This was back in 2003, about a month shy of my nineteenth birthday. Within the next year, I grew my hair down to my belly button. My hair was so soft and healthy. My brother is growing his hair long, and I look at it and miss my old hair. “Don’t dye your hair!” I tell him as a precaution. “BECAUSE IT IS NEVER THE SAME IF YOU DO.”
I really wish I had that long hair now. My hair had to be cut shorter to hide the fact that parts of it had burned off. I’m going to grow it out to my belly button again, just for old time’s sake. I can’t wait until it’s pretty again.
Thank you for indulging me on this vanity post.