Every six months or so I have a genuine, full-on crisis with my hair colour. I lie awake at night, asking myself the question: ‘Do blondes really have more fun?’ Here is my hair-raising story…
Avoid the Jellyfish
I was originally a mousy brown but wanted highlights at sixteen. My mum wanted the same but was too scared to try it first, so I was the guinea pig. She took me to her friend, who was a home hairdresser. There I sat, in her kitchen, imagining a Pamela Anderson version of teenage me. Suddenly, my mum’s friend pulled, what can only be described as a jellyfish with no tentacles, out from her bag.
It was a rubber highlighting cap.
I won’t go into detail, but the pain was excruciating – so bad that I woke up that night in a cold sweat, fearing the cap would come back for me.The pain was worth it though. That evening I straightened my new, streaky do and strutted my stuff around town in my long faux-fur trimmed, hippy embroidered coat.
Don’t Become a Groupie
Just before leaving home for uni, I decided on a style change – brunette hair with a punky, layered cut. I was a seventeen year old punk rocker who attempted a few chords on an electric guitar, just to annoy my parents. I went to visit mum’s friend again who confidently hacked away at my hair. Once complete, she held up the mirror to reveal…a mullet. I walked home in tears and even took a diversion through the cemetery to avoid people with normal haircuts. When I got home I was greeted by my dad who did a Scooby Doo impression and named me Shaggy. Mum and I put on the brown hair dye to try and improve the situation – it didn’t.
So with two weeks left until I started uni, I now looked like Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones. At this point, I wanted nothing more than to be that blonde girl who had more fun and not the brunette locked away in her bedroom waiting for her mullet to grow out.
You are not a member of the Spice Girls
So I’m at uni, the mullet has finally grown out, my hair is brown and I’m in Boots looking at blonde hair dyes. I’m filled with false confidence and images of Lauren Conrad’s blonde locks swimming around in my head. I pick up the brightest blonde on the shelf and rush home to pour it all over my head. Timer set, I settle down to watch the usual university student TV programmes (ahem Jeremy Kyle) and wait for the dye to work its magic.
Forty minutes later I am Geri Halliwell.
Part 2 will be coming soon! Do you have any hair disaster stories? Tell me in the comments below!