08.14.2007 0 °F
On January 11, 2007, I, NG, dyed my naturally blonde hair dark brown. I thought it would be a fun change of pace, and possibly even a smart move. I had always entertained the thought of becoming a brunette for a little while. I figured, what better time than now. I would be going somewhere where no one knew me, and had no idea what I was supposed to look like. If I was going to do it, now seemed like the perfect time. Not to mention, I was about to move to the Middle East, where I thought being a blonde may possibly pose a problem for me. So on January 11, I went to Riley, my hair stylist, and told her I wanted a “light brown, maybe with a tinge of copper for kicks.” Turns out my hair loves red hair dye, and soaked up every ounce of that “tinge of copper,” and turned my hair purple. Uh huh, PURPLE. That was not exactly what I had asked for. Now at this point, Riley is freaking out a little bit, and trying to figure out how to rectify this hot mess on my head. She decides that in order to counteract the red (purple) we must go darker. I leave her chair that day with very dark red/brown hair. Not exactly what I had in mind, but what’s done is done. I basically look like a freak, and my dear sweet friends all tell me it looks good. It looks bad and I know it, but what can I do? Thankfully, the blonde in me is a fighter, and that dye faded significantly in the first week. By the time I actually left for Turkey, it was a much more manageable hue. That’s not to say that I liked it, but it was a marvelous improvement. I was determined to deal with it, and stay a brunette, until the end of my six month adventure abroad. However, I increasingly began to hate my hair, and for the life of me could not get used to the reflection I saw in the mirror. Furthermore, I own one too many pieces of bright pink clothing, which goes great with blonde hair...but not so much with brown/ red. One of the reasons I dyed it dark in the first place was so I would not stick out so much in Turkey. However, it really made no difference at all. People stared at me all the time, and it had nothing to do with my hair. I know this sounds ridicules, I mean it is just hair, who gives a shit? It matters! Try dying your hair some freak ass color, and see how you feel. Now like I said, the shit faded fast. I kept telling myself to hang in there, that it would be at that “light brown” stage soon at this rate. The problem was that because of all that red dye in there, it was not fading into a nice light brown…..it was fading into fucking pink. PINK HAIR! Not ok. I was constantly thinking about dying it back blonde, but was a. Worried about the language/ style barrier that was definitely present in Turkey and 2. Really wanting to just stick it out.
I could not do this, and on March 9, 2007, just two months later, I dyed my shit back blonde. Problem solved, right? Uhm….not so fast. Let me remind you that I was in Turkey, and despite having a fluent Turkish speaker with me at the salon, the fab five Turkish men stylists had a vision of their own. That is right, they completely and totally disregarded the instructions they had been given regarding my hair. Not only did I walk out of there with the trailer trashiest shade of blonde on my head, but also with BANGS!! I have never in my life had bangs, nor have I ever even thought for .5 seconds that I wanted them or that they would look good on me. Fuckers gave me bangs! And some crackpot beauty school dropout haircut. I looked like I was wearing a bad wig. And thanks to the bleach, my hair felt like straw.
Again, what could I do? Hair is hair, it grows back….and like I said, no one in Turkey knew what I was supposed to look like. I mean by now, I was probably already known as the chick with the weird pink hair, might as well live up to the nickname. I was so traumatized with my experience with the mulleted mafia that I refused to let anyone else in Turkey touch my hair. It grew out, and the bleach job also began to fade. By the end of May, I could pull it back in a ponytail and pretend that it wasn’t so bad after all. When I got back to California, I immediately went in to see Riley, begging her to fix my train wreck hair-did. She did, thank the lord! After making fun of the ugly and uneven hair cut I came in with (and reassuring me that the bleach did not ruin my hair after all), she gave me the haircut I had wanted all along! I will never again underestimate the importance of not having fucked up hair. Unfortunately the entire time I was abroad, my hair looked like shit, and I have about 2,000 pictures to help me remember that. However, now my shit is more or less back to normal, and I will never ever ever mess with it again. Not even if I move permanently to Saudi Arabia.