Oh man. Here we go again.
I’ve been going back and forth for months now about whether or not I want to ever color my hair again—or at least if I want to color it again in the foreseeable future, and it basically changes week to week. It’s been 10 months. Sometimes I think it looks better than ever. Other times I think it looks blah.
And it should go without saying that when Alexandra colored hers recently, I had pangs of envy. It looks so pretty!
More recently, I’ve taken to neurotically crowdsourcing my friends about it: “Am I even blonde anymore? Like, objectively speaking. If you saw me on the street and you didn’t know me, would you be like, There goes a blonde girl? Or would you be like, There goes a brunette? Or maybe a dirty blonde, would you say?” Like a crazy person. And in the event I have to describe myself physically, like if I’m meeting someone in public for the first time—for a work thing, thank you very much—I’ve preemptively sent the “I have dark-blonde hair and I will probably be wearing black” email, whereas I used to say simply, “I’m blonde.”
This is a whole lot of navel gazing, I realize, but there is weird stuff wrapped up in hair color—not to mention we live in a world where people love to play the “Which one are you” game, which usually comes down to looks. Are you Betty or Veronica? Serena or Blair? Carrie or Miranda? (Or…Samantha?) Silly as it all is, there’s IDENTITY stuff (and stereotypes) that go with every hair color—even for a girl who has never felt particularly, well, blonde.
I’ve felt freed, though, is the truth. Shampoo, conditioner, the occasional trim, and that’s about as high maintenance as this mane gets. I feel good about it, in a weirdly deep way. It feels good that this is how it comes out of my head. That I’m not wasting money and upping my chemical exposure. That I’m saving bucks. And yet.
As if to torture me, an email just popped up in my inbox, from my beloved colorist, who righted my hair when it went horribly wrong that time I tried to get “nontoxic” highlights (see the hair chapter in the book, if you have it). This email was from the guy who fixed me. Who attended our book launch party. Who I have a total and complete friend-crush on:
“How are you? Hope you are healthy and safe after this crazy August.. I have moved into a great gallery/salon space! I know you’ve really weened down the hair color… however, when you’re ready to make an appointment, or if you’re in the area, stop in for some champagne! I would love to show you around the space and catch up!!”
Oh man. Seth. Highlights. A beautiful art gallery-salon. Champagne.
What do I dooooooooo?
You know how when you’re shopping you tell yourself: I’ll sleep on it, and if I’m still thinking about it tomorrow then maybe I’ll get it? I try to apply that to most things in life: the personal, the professional and the completely inane.
So that’s what I’ll do with this. I’ll sleep on it. Again.
Anyone else been there?
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