Badass Hair Day
Yesterday, in honor of Fool’s Day, which I take to be my personal feast day, I did something for ME: changed the coloration of my hair. I hadn’t done that in a while; it’s been some time since I could talk about spending $150 to change the color of my hair with a straight face. So I went to the store with Rachael, and we shopped natural hair color products. We found this:
Now, that is one gorgeous woman. And while I know this product has only SAID it will color my hair, it is clearly ALSO promising, just-between-it-and-me-and-don’t-tell-anybody-I-said-I-would, to make me that gorgeous. So we will find out whether its unspoken promise to make me look like a model is realized.
Rachael and I made our plan: we would transform my hair (and, it is to be hoped, my Entire Persona) in the afternoon of my feast day, on which for reasons unrelated to the topic at hand she didn’t have to go to school. She made a mix disk for the event, because that is what she does.
Here is the playlist:
Having a firm grip on the fact of my cluelessness when it comes to DIY hair color, I called up my friend & homeopath, Sonja, who initially recommended this brand to me. Sonja uses it, although in a different shade, all the time. I have never seen the box she buys, so I cannot say whether her box has made her look like the cover image. I like the color of her hair, though, and she always knows when a product has something in it that really shouldn’t be put on or in a living body.
As I expected, Sonja has a complete and fully tested methodology.
First, one must put on a shirt that can be unbuttoned rather than pulled over the head. Any dye on the garment will be there forever, apparently.
Second, the Hair Color Aspirant must get a trash bag and put it on like a cape. Sort of the DIY version of the cape they give you at the hairdresser. It’s also good for rainy days.
If , unlike me, the Hair Color Aspirant is not obsessive and has not yet opened the box, examined the contents, and fully digested the instructions, now would be the time to do those things. Also, before she goes any further, she should acquire a second trash bag. For later. I went with a kitchen-size bag.
If the aspirant is fortunate enough to have reinforcements, that person (or persons, I suppose, if the aspirant really has that much hair) should put on gloves, mix up the dye, and shake it thoroughly. If no reinforcements are available, the aspirant has to do this bit, too.
Fortunately, I had Rachael, and Rachael had a soundtrack. Here she is, shaking the bottle to the music:
We wrestled the cap off the bottle, I leaned over the sink, and she squirted a liquid that looked nothing like the color of hair gorgeousness I had purchased all over my hair. We worked it in, just like the directions said. And then it was time for the final piece of the Sonja Haircolor Methodology: using the second trash bag to fashion a sort of turban, which controls drips (thus preventing the entire house from matching my hair) and locks in heat to set the color better.
We set the timer for the interval in the instructions, and I wandered back to the computer to work on configuring my new blog home on WordPress. Yes, I’m a geek.
Fast forward: timer goes off, I take off my superhero costume and get into the shower, where I rinse, shampoo, use the dye fixer, and rinse again. When next we see me, I’m dressed again and relatively dry:
This is a pretty good hair color, though you can’t see it very well in the photo we took in the kitchen. And the magic contents of the box have indisputably failed to make me look like a model. Oh well.
We decide, in the interests of science and full disclosure and fame and stuff, to go out to the deck, where we hope the sunlight will allow us to better capture my new coloration. Rachael shoots and shoots. I don’t mean to be an uncooperative subject, but I’m just not photogenic.
I try to smile, but I’m squinty in the sunlight. (Have I mentioned that I’m part vampire?) I try to pose with Fergus, because it is a rule that every photo shoot at our house must include at least one cat, but Fergus is a camera hog and moves his head in front of my face at precisely the wrong moment. Finally Rachael hits on the perfect concept.
“Mom,” she says, “Swing your hair around like that chick in Paramore.”
Unfortunately I am too overwhelmed by the goofiness of it to keep a straight face. I will never make it as a model. Perhaps the box knew it was hopeless. But Rachael is an intrepid photographer, and she’s got her concept now. I must try again:
Finally, in this shot, we achieve the objective of letting sunlight show the highlight color of my new hair. Alas, not only have I closed my eyes, as I do in 50% of all photos ever taken of me, but I have cat fur from the shot with Fergus on me.
TOTAL MODEL FAIL.
One more time. Do it one more time, Mom.
What the hell.
“Hey, Mom, that one was badass,” Rachael says after I nearly fall over delivering this performance. “Just like that chick in Paramore.”
I dunno, Rach.