Monday, September 10, 2012

Dirty Hairy

I had dyed my hair weeks ago (please see previous post Hue Done It). To tone The Red my stylist put a darker red over it and the result was something I could deal with, not exactly love, but tolerate. Anyway, I’ve been getting relaxers since the 6th grade and it was time for a touch-up.

She gave me a treatment after rinsing out the relaxer like she always does, only to realize that a large patch of my hair (about the size of a large egg) was missing from the back. A pinch more and I would have been rocking a bald spot. My hair and my stylist have had a personal relationship for 10 years. Even she was confused. Especially, since she’s been dying/highlighting my hair blonde for years with no adverse reactions, not even a little. My hair is strong. Usually, she said, that type of breakage comes from blonde dye and other chemicals not getting along. Red, for the most part, behaves.

My conclusion? My hair was as abhorrent about The Red as I was and chose to violently show its disgust the only way it knew how. Fight or flight, it chose the latter. The only way to rectify the situation while maintaining cuteness was to chop it. So, I walked in for a touch up and came out with a Pixie cut.

Numerous times I had said The Red would be cute on a Pixie (I even said it in the previous post), I guess my hair took it literally. My stylist was visibly upset and practically in tears, plus my hair was almost to the middle of my back. Me?  I saw it as a situation that could be fixed. Plus, she’s not “scissor-happy” and if she said it had to be cut, then it had to be done.

As we thumbed through books looking for a cut, she jokingly said, “The blonde didn’t like the red and said it had to go.” Hmm...I had a thought. I rolled my eyes up to see what Style Duchess was doing. I figured after The Red and The Pixie she’d be ready for therapy. Instead, I found her twirling a pair of scissors around her finger. She looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Do you feel lucky?"

Touche Style Duchess, Touche.

Hue Done It

This post was originally written August 15, 2012...

For over 5 years, I’ve been dyeing my hair. Highlights grew into full blown dye. I’ve had it dyed all one color, the bottom darker then the top,  highlighted the highlights, grown out/cut off, and re-dyed. The result was a unique concoction of different hues and tones, which received numerous compliments. Women would ask, “What color is that? I want that.” I couldn’t tell them. Once you have layers of dye in your hair; you really don’t know because the result is not what’s on the dye tube. The thing is the colors were all in the blonde family. But, true to my fickle nature, I grew bored with it.

So, I went red.


See, when I do something, I’m not the type to just stick my toe in the water, I cannonball. Something I’m very proud of actually, but this time I belly-flopped. The Kid said I looked like Strawberry Shortcake. I think that's a compliment, but I assure you at my age, that’s not the look I want to go for. But, The Kid is 9 and I still have to remind her to put deodorant on in the morning, so her opinions on grooming mean nothing.

I said to Hubs, “I feel like a walking Fruit Loop.” 
His response was, “Do you feel crazy?”

I assured him I didn’t and that I was referring to my hair color. He told me that my hair looks nothing like I think it looks and that it looked great. He said if it did look like I thought it looked, he would be the first to say something. And he would.

In reality, it’s not anywhere near those shades, but my imagination won’t allow me to see otherwise. The color is actually a gorgeous bold shade of kick-ass red. But, I think it would be better suited for a cute pixie-cut, a celebrity, a superhero (hmm, I wonder if X-Mom had something to do with this), or someone less chickeny.

Fear of tiger striped hair or my beautician scolding me and banning me from her shop has stopped me from zooming to buy a home dye kit. And my inner Style Duchess is such a cow! She’s put up a “Do Not Disturb” sign and has bolted herself in her room until the next hair appointment. She wants me to think she’s in there seething because I wronged her on many levels. But, I know she’s hiding out, replaying all the compliments I’ve received from The Blonde Years on her DVR, while crying over bars of chocolate.

Red is not for the faint of heart and I’m in a coma.

At the precise moment I decided I would just ignore my hair away, Hubs sent me a text. It was a picture of me from the 6th grade. There I was grinning while a huge pair of pink glasses tried to eat my face. The picture is hilarious evidence of my former awkwardness.

He texted, “You got through this period in your life, you can make it through a little red hair…”  *swoon* I love him.

And he's long as I have a hat.

Okay, after 4 days of crying and giving myself The Finger in the morning because the Hair Fairy didn't "poof" the red away, I'm maintaining. I've discovered pulling it back tames it...A LOT! I actually feel less like a Skittle. And I see Style Duchess is peeking her head around her door.

I just looked in the mirror...ugh!