I got roped into accompanying Rachel and her friend Peter to the beauty salon on the weekend. I wasn’t going as a customer, mind you—my role was to provide moral support (in Peter’s case) and financial aid (in Rachel’s). Oh, and to buy us all lunch at a local trendy bistro. I mean, really—what else are mothers for?
Anyway. As you know, I had my hair coloured back in March. And when I write “coloured,” I don’t mean “highlighted” or “lowlighted” or any other kind of lighted: I mean coloured. As in all over.
To tell you the truth, I was a bit conflicted about this.
It’s been a matter of principle for me: a long time ago, when I first noticed grey hairs starting to thread their way among the brown, I decided that I’d avoid tampering with my hair colour. Let Nature take her course, have her way, do her thing…and if that meant I was fully grey by the age of 55 or 60, well, so be it.
I’ve never been a high-maintenance type, and I’ve never been worried about going grey; in fact, I kind of liked the way it was coming in, framing my face with silvery bits. Everything was going swimmingly, until I went to see Craig for my usual every-six-week cut a couple of months back. It was late winter, that season when everything has turned to slush, squashed flat hat-hair is endemic, everyone’s skin is kind of pasty and longing for the sun.
I was ready for spring, ready for change, ready to have some fun, dammit!
Craig understands my hair, which is a rather large plus, since he’s my hairdresser; but more important than that, he gets me. So when I sat down that fateful day in early March, sighed, and said, “I don’t really know what to do with my hair. I’m just kind of…bored with it,” Craig got that gleam in his eye that hairdressers get when they see a golden opportunity.
“What about some colour?” he asked. Actually, he didn’t so much ask as inform: I was bored with my hair, bored with its shape, its texture, its general overall blah-ness. I needed colour. And lots of it. It would be great. It wouldn’t make me look like an old lady who dyes her hair because she can’t face aging and needs to cling to some weird ideal of youth; it would make me look…more like me. It would be gorgeous. I would be gorgeous.
Somewhere along the way, I got swept up in his enthusiasm, and when I left the salon that day, I was a redhead. Flaming red, in fact, with a large swath of platinum blonde at the front, where a lot of my grey used to reside.
I loved it, and I loved the reason for it: I realized that I colour my hair not because I’m trying to run away from reality, but because I’m running toward something better: hair that reflects who I am. Someone who’s the opposite of “staid and dignified,” who likes to play around, probably swears too much and takes pictures of beavers doing strange things on trains. That kind of person.
And that brings me to Saturday’s visit. Same salon (because Craig also cuts Rachel’s hair). And since I had a longish time to kill, and I can only knit or play Words with Friends for so long (true story!), I started poking around the shelves of “product” they keep at the front of the shop.
That’s when I discovered something I’d never really noticed before: it’s called “Color.Bug,” and it’s made by Kevin Murphy (and I should note here that I’m not getting a penny to write this, just in case you’re wondering). I can best describe it as a kind of chalky substance that you can use to colour strands of hair—a bit like eye shadow, with a powdery consistency, that delivers a blast of colour when and where you want it.
Because, you know, who doesn’t want purple hair?
On a whim, I dabbed a bit of this magic powder on some of the aforementioned platinum blonde bits around my face…and then a few further back…and now I have (temporary) purple streaks.
Whee! This is some serious fun, Wendy. It comes in several colours, including lime green, pink, salmon, white, and bronze, and I can see how it could become habit-forming.
(Hint: don’t let this stuff get on your face. We’re talking heavy-duty, high-intensity colour here. It won’t hurt you, but unless you like large blotches of purple or green or whatever on your forehead or cheek, you won’t be thrilled. Do not ask me how I know this.)
It does wash out, but I should mention that when I washed my hair this morning, the front bits retained quite a bit of pinkish hue (as opposed to yesterday’s full-tilt boogie purple). I suspect Color.Bug has more “cling” on bleached hair, but I’m confident it’ll disappear completely with a couple more washes.
And hey, if it doesn’t, I’m not bothered. Because that’s the kind of crazy kid I am.