I have recently had to return to blonde – well, a strawberry blonde which vaguely qualifies as red – because every attempt at red recently has resulted in violent orange. This has been upsetting to some of my friends and family. I’m not sure exactly why because as I see it – it truly is only hair.
Hair is our bodies’ wonderful renewable resource and that fact should not be taken lightly. Hair grows out. No matter how horribly you mutilate it which scissors or grossly you choose to color it, it grows out. Mistakes are short –lived and through each incarnation we can experiment, express ourselves and be totally outlandish without any lasting repercussions. It doesn’t get better than that.
Throughout my life, whenever I’ve undergone changes I’ve used my locks as the jumping off point. Years ago, when I left my first husband it was one change after another and I made so many changes to my hair color that it turned purple first (before it was cool to have purple hair) and then green. I’ve also fitfully cropped it in the wee hours of the morning when I couldn’t sleep. My mop has seen so many variations that it has its own split personalities – completely separate from mine.
The hue of my hair has often indicated which story character I was embracing as well – case in point, Red Mojo Mama. I had to have a shade to honor my heroine, mostly so we could have our redhead moments together. She appreciated it, too.
I have a protagionist, Electra Blue, percolating in my head recently, but she’ll have to sport her blue-streaked raven tresses on her own, I’m afraid. I’m getting too old for that much flair.
What brought all this to mind was the declaration from one of my siblings that my last dye-job was ORANGE (which I was perfectly aware of but not particularly bothered by) and a pregnant pause as she waited for me to be shocked and shamed. Guess what. I wasn’t either one, because – it’s only hair.
Maybe I will try the black hair with azure streaks after all. What fun that could be!