So last week, I had a follicular crisis. And like any blogger worth her salt, I wrote about it. When in doubt, ask complete strangers. Works every time.
In my defense, I wouldn't have had to poll public opinion about what to do with my hair if my husband was capable of articulating an opinion other than "How much is this going to cost us????" in a slightly screechy tone.
You can't put a price on my head, Boo. Wait. That came out wrong.
Since that post last week, I've been gently reminded more than once that I owe you all some photographic evidence about what exactly happened to my hair.
For a reminder, this is what my hair looked like going into my appointment:
(Well, okay, not really, since I didn't even bother to comb it and only pulled it back into a messy ponytail, but this is the colour my hair was. Except my roots were about an inch longer and much more skunky looking.)
My hair was getting too long and it resembled a dollar store Barbie doll. Which wouldn't be a bad look if I had the plastic boobs and rock hard butt cheeks those cheap hussies dolls do. However, I'm a little more au naturel. (In other words, I'm saggier, softer and I can't rock the blue eyeshadow no matter how hard I try.)
My stylist is a gem. She listened to me politely and then does her own thing. And it works every.single.time. I ought to pay her more.
After the appointment, I tweeted out this picture from my car:
But apparently my twitter friends wanted to see my whole head and not just one eyeball. Picky picky. Also, the picture doesn't actually resemble my current hair colour thanks to my iPhone's fancy camera app.
So without any further ado, here's my hair. Currently.
Just kidding. As much as I want a change, I have no real desire to walk around with greyish purple hair. I figure that time is still approaching so why rush it. I'll be a blue haired little old lady soon enough.
In the end, my lovely and talented stylist sheared several inches off and made my hair bouncy once again while taking me back to my natural(ish) colour. A dark blond. So all of this fuss, for a whole lot of nothing dramatic.
But that's okay. Because we (as in Carol, my stylist, and not me) have a plan. We are slowly going darker. Because the next time I get my hair done, I'm killing the blonde.
Because blondes are boring, hair is meant to be changed and I really like the colour red.
I can only hope the next time I go to the salon, I walk out looking a little like this:
If it works for Rhianna and Sideshow Bob, I figure I'll totally be able to rock this look.