I so, so, so, so want to go back and talk some more about yesterday’s Hot Topic.But I can’t.
And I won’t.
No matter how much blood, sweat and tears have been lost over whether or not HTT is a good thing or a bad thing. (Or just plain stupid.)
Because there are way more important things to talk about – like my hair.
FYE (which is an acronym for For Your Edification, FYE): I made my appointment with destiny for Saturday morning.
And I’m going to do it.
Because there are way more important things to talk about – like my hair.
FYE (which is an acronym for For Your Edification, FYE): I made my appointment with destiny for Saturday morning.
And I’m going to do it.
I think.
I mean, I really, really want to.
But my track record with hair isn’t so hot.
Sure, I’ve been sporting mid- to long-lengthed locks for several years now. And I’ve been pretty consistently blonde to caramel-highlighted for the same timeframe. But I have a sordid salon past, filled with short hair, home dye jobs and lots of Beige Neige.
The latter is the color that I used to dye my own hair from 14 to 18, at which point it was discontinued and my life was thrown into utter chaos. But before that, it turned my hair the loveliest shade of baby blonde. It was so pale but not platinum. Combined with my career as a semi-professional lifeguard, it turned my hair into a bed of super shiny blonde locks, which were often mistaken for a wig. Seriously.
Every now and then I’d feel a little crazy and go red or brown, which always turned green and required an emergency trip to the salon, only to return to my blonde roots. (Although my real roots are a bland light brown these days.) I just don’t feel like me without a little lightness around the face, but I seem to forget this every two years.
So when I headed to college, I decided my flaxen bob needed to be traded for a short, brown ‘do. Off I went, picture in hand, to my stylist … who turned out to be sick and had his son stand in for him. (Mistake #1.) Unfortunately, the picture I brought featured a girl with super-short bangs, which were all the rage, and a layered cut tucked behind her ears. (Mistake #2.) He apparently thought the hair was cut around her ears and preceded to do the same to mine. So my potentially cute ‘do became a bowl cut.
Hoping that a color change would help fix the dastardly ‘do, I rushed home and dyed it brown. (Mistake #3.) Well, not even two days into my college career, I decided that brown was so not my style. I then rushed out to the beauty supply and found a sad substitute for Beige Neige, which was accidentally an ash-toned blonde. (Mistake #4.)
Remember the part where I had just dyed my hair brown? And the part where I referenced my job as a lifeguard and swim teacher – you know, someone who spends an enormous amount of time in chlorinated pool water? Well, if you’re still not following, let me do the math for you:
Damaged hair + Too much dying + 4 mistakes =
But my track record with hair isn’t so hot.
Sure, I’ve been sporting mid- to long-lengthed locks for several years now. And I’ve been pretty consistently blonde to caramel-highlighted for the same timeframe. But I have a sordid salon past, filled with short hair, home dye jobs and lots of Beige Neige.
The latter is the color that I used to dye my own hair from 14 to 18, at which point it was discontinued and my life was thrown into utter chaos. But before that, it turned my hair the loveliest shade of baby blonde. It was so pale but not platinum. Combined with my career as a semi-professional lifeguard, it turned my hair into a bed of super shiny blonde locks, which were often mistaken for a wig. Seriously.
Every now and then I’d feel a little crazy and go red or brown, which always turned green and required an emergency trip to the salon, only to return to my blonde roots. (Although my real roots are a bland light brown these days.) I just don’t feel like me without a little lightness around the face, but I seem to forget this every two years.
So when I headed to college, I decided my flaxen bob needed to be traded for a short, brown ‘do. Off I went, picture in hand, to my stylist … who turned out to be sick and had his son stand in for him. (Mistake #1.) Unfortunately, the picture I brought featured a girl with super-short bangs, which were all the rage, and a layered cut tucked behind her ears. (Mistake #2.) He apparently thought the hair was cut around her ears and preceded to do the same to mine. So my potentially cute ‘do became a bowl cut.
Hoping that a color change would help fix the dastardly ‘do, I rushed home and dyed it brown. (Mistake #3.) Well, not even two days into my college career, I decided that brown was so not my style. I then rushed out to the beauty supply and found a sad substitute for Beige Neige, which was accidentally an ash-toned blonde. (Mistake #4.)
Remember the part where I had just dyed my hair brown? And the part where I referenced my job as a lifeguard and swim teacher – you know, someone who spends an enormous amount of time in chlorinated pool water? Well, if you’re still not following, let me do the math for you:
Damaged hair + Too much dying + 4 mistakes =
Large clumps of hair falling out all around me while I helplessly try to stick them back on my scalp.
Yes, my hair fell out. Well, it more fell off.
So what does a girl do at 6 p.m. on a Saturday with no car and no local stylist? She grabs her roommate and starts walking from the dorms to the mall.
Luckily, my dear friend’s future husband and his friend stopped to give us a ride. We made it in time to the mall where I had all the dying hair put to rest at the hands of a recent beauty school grad who probably got bad grades.
Here’s a hint of how short it was: The first guy I saw after “fixing” my hair asked, “Did you shave your head? That’s hot.”
So it was short but apparently dead sexy if you dig White Supremacists.
And that’s just one of my many sad tales from the salon. Life just isn’t long enough to tell you them all.
Yet, I’m about to take my hair into my hands … er, my stylist’s hands … again.
I guess that proves that if we don’t learn from the past, we’re doomed to repeat it.
Just promise me that this hair story has a happy ending, or at least some Beige Neige.
…. So what’s your worst hairdo drama?
So what does a girl do at 6 p.m. on a Saturday with no car and no local stylist? She grabs her roommate and starts walking from the dorms to the mall.
Luckily, my dear friend’s future husband and his friend stopped to give us a ride. We made it in time to the mall where I had all the dying hair put to rest at the hands of a recent beauty school grad who probably got bad grades.
Here’s a hint of how short it was: The first guy I saw after “fixing” my hair asked, “Did you shave your head? That’s hot.”
So it was short but apparently dead sexy if you dig White Supremacists.
And that’s just one of my many sad tales from the salon. Life just isn’t long enough to tell you them all.
Yet, I’m about to take my hair into my hands … er, my stylist’s hands … again.
I guess that proves that if we don’t learn from the past, we’re doomed to repeat it.
Just promise me that this hair story has a happy ending, or at least some Beige Neige.
…. So what’s your worst hairdo drama?
