The Accidental Brunette
My natural hair color is dirty blond.
But I've been highlighting it for years in an effort to make it more "blond" and less "dirty."
Several years ago, in a burst of au natural euphoria, I decided all that bleach might be an unhealthy addiction. So I spoke to my very fabulous and super hot colorist Robert about dying my hair back to its natural color. He scowled deeply, shook his head and suggested a golden honey strawberry instead.
But I insisted.
So he turned me into a dark brunette. Robert was either a little passive aggressive or not very good at following directions.
The next day I flew out to California. My boyfriend and I were driving down the gorgeous Pacific Coast Highway and then attending a lavish wedding in LA at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
As we drove down US Highway 101, my boyfriend (coincidentally also a brunette) and I had the following conversation...
"Wow. Look at these incredible views. It's unbelievable," my boyfriend exclaimed.
"I hate my hair."
"I love your hair. And those Redwood trees. Have you ever seen anything like that before?"
"I really hate my f-king hair. Don't you hate it? It so awful. How could you not hate it? Of course you hate it. It totally washes me out. God, I look so pale and sickly."
"No, I really like it. I can't believe how high up we are. These cliffs are crazy. Look at the coastline."
"I can not believe how much I detest my hair. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm an impostor. A really ugly haired impostor."
"I think you look hot. Are you going to look out the window at all or just stare into the sun visor mirror?"
"The mirror obviously. As if I have a choice."
Since my boyfriend was in some kind of insane denial about my tragic hair situation, I decided to call my colorist Robert for help. This is kind of like calling your local Girl Scouts rep to help you get off the Samoas but I was really desperate.
He told me to wash my hair with Tide to get the color out. So that night, at the motel, I had a very long evening with a gallon of Clean Breeze Tide. But no amount of scrubbing, rinsing and drying did anything. I was despondent.
We finally arrived in LA and I immediately went to the hotel's super cool, swanky hair salon. I got highlights that very day.
But I still didn't look completely like me. So a few days later, as soon as we arrived back in New York City, I had my hair highlighted again.
My commitment to excessive hair chemicals has never wavered since. Although I no longer wash my hair with Tide. Because there's just something weird about having your hair smell like clean laundry.
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