Since middle school, I've made a wide range of hair mistakes. My first experience was in the summer after seventh grade. I wanted highlights, so my mom bought one of those at-home kits and within hours, I'd become a girl with blonde roots and brown ends. Whoops. And of course, tears ensued. After that mishap, I went to a salon of some sort to get them done.
Until, of course, the movie
A Walk to Remember with Mandy Moore came out and I dreamt of having her gorgeous, chocolate brown hair. And during a sleepover with a bunch of other high school girls, we decided that
someone should dye their hair. And, of course, I volunteered -- after all, I'd been longing for shiny brown hair... So off we went to Target, where we found a box where the girl on the front had a color that mimicked that of Mandy Moore's. I called my mom on the ride home, who asked with a hint (or an urging) of caution, "are you
sure you want to do that?" Um, duh! I'm 15 and what could go wrong?
Um, everything? Basically, yes. For starters, we only glanced at the picture on the box -- had we read the color as my mom and I did the following day, we'd have found out it was dubbed "Deep Copper Mahogany". Oofsch. Yep -- it was brown, but with an orangey/red/purple hint. Whoops. And we also didn't do a good job of washing all of the color out, because my pillowcase turned a shade of purple over night. Double whoops. Unfortunately, my hair turned a vibrant purple/red shade. Enter tears. And a mom who shook her head as she dialed up a salon in town to fix the silly, impulsive teenage mistake I'd made.
So the next day, I found myself sitting in a salon chair for around five hours to change that cartoon character hair into something a little more, well, normal. And then I cried, again. And I distinctly remember thinking, "what did I do to my pretty, highlighted hair?"
Naturally, I continued to make good and not-so-good hair choices from then on -- but none quite as horrible as that. Most of the time, I remained highlighted. A few times, I dabbled in being an allover brunette. But about two years ago, I finally realized that my no-fail color was a few shades of blonde highlights. I never disliked the look when I'd get it done and made me look less "boring" than being a solid brown-hue. And I'd vowed to never do anything but highlights.
Naturally, I'm fickle. But two years was a pretty long time for me to go without breaking that vow. Until last night, of course.
I went to a new stylist who I'd never been to before. She was quite a bit more spunky and I kind of felt like a nun sitting in her chair. Seriously. When she asked if I ever go out, I responded with a meek, "not really." She looked at me like I really
was a nun. Seriously. And then when she asked where I go if and when I do go out and I responded with, "I dunno, Applebees?" she looked like I was a nun who was asking to get a mohawk.
Anyway.
She suggested I "go dark" for fall. "
Everyone goes dark for fall. Even I go dark for fall, and I am
blonde in the summer!" oofsch. Peer pressure.
Maybe it was the fact that I was starving at that moment and just wanted to hurry up and get on with it. Or maybe it was that my roots had grown out an inch and a half and I just wanted them covered up. Or possibly because of the one hour of sleep I'd gotten the night before, or because she told me it would really make my blue eyes look "
suuuuuuuuh beeeeeautiful, ohmigod".
No matter what it was, I broke my vow.
And I am now no longer a blonde. Instead, I am a vampy auburn goddess... or something. A vampy auburn goddess who got into her car and
sobbed about her horrible lapse in judgment.
A vampy auburn goddess who had trouble falling asleep because she kept thinking about the horrible mistake she'd made and what her students would say when they saw her the next day.
Anyway, I got to school this morning and waited by the door of my classroom to give "hello handshakes" as my third graders come in like I usually do. Only today, rather than smiling and saying good morning, their little mouths dropped to the floor and then ran a-mile-a-minute about my new hair color.
Here are some of my favorites from the day:
"Um, can you change it back?" "No, I'm afraid it doesn't wash out." "Oh
no!! I liked it yellow so much better!"
"Your hair doesn't match your face!"
"Your hair doesn't match your outfit today."
"Your hair doesn't match any of the clothes you have ever worn."
"You look like my mom." -- I heard this eight thousand times today.
"You look hideous." No seriously, one kid really did say this to me.
The boy who said I look hideous even routinely shielded his eyes from my ugliness.
Luckily, I have a self esteem that doesn't get dents in it from eight and nine-year-olds : ) My husband said he's surprised I didn't cry, but I really just found it hilarious. They were being completely preposterous.
Well, it also helped that many of the people I work with seemed to genuinely like it. Some, of course, shared my feeling -- that it was pretty drastic and gave preference to my former hair. But some really liked it significantly more.
And now that I'm getting over the whole, I-feel-like-I'm-wearing-an-auburn-wig-thing, I
might like it a little more. Maybe.
Oh my.
