which is distinct from a shaggy dog story.
Here is how you spend three day’s pay and four and one-half hours at the hairdresser and leave looking almost exactly the same as you looked when you walked in.
I was going for the Full Ginger Spice look: vibrant copper with golden blonde highlights. Right now, my hair is a dark reddish-brown, which is only because it sucked up too much dye when I did it myself, and narsty blondish roots with ahem “natural platinum highlights,” which is only because I’m old.
Well, it seems, from doing some internettary research, that Feria, the dye I used, is notorious for Never. Coming. Off. And it’s too dark, so it MUST come off, so I knew I needed professional help. Snark away in the comments section if you must.
I waited and saved and finally made an appointment with a professional I thought was pretty good.
She did my highlights gold, and they were fabulous. Then, leaving the highlights in foil to protect them from the red she did the roots in copper.
Then I sat while that took.
Then she “emulsified” the dye at the roots and combed it through the hair so the ends would pick up the copper colour.
Then I sat while that took.
Then she washed it out and added a glaze to smooth the cuticle.
Then I sat while that took.
Then she washed it out and realized that my roots were bright copper, like rip your eye out copper which was what I went in there for, but the rest of the hair was the same damn colour it had been before.
Then she puzzled and puzzed and finally decided to re-dye my hair from scratch, only pushing the highlights to one side, so they got some of the red on them and became, therefore, slightly less fabulous.
Then I sat while that took.
Then she rinsed it out and she realized the roots were too bright still relative to the still-dark ends, so she put a different, browner glaze on to tone the roots down which had the unfortunate side effect of darkening the highlights as well.
Then I sat while that took.
Then she rinsed it out and blowdried my hair and there it was, the same damn colour as it had been before, only more expensive.
UGH.
Now I have a choice: she offered to fix it for free, IF this colour indeed will come off at all, something science has yet to establish. We may need to stick my head in the Cyclotron to get rid of it. But the hair has been through so much I don’t want to put it through this follicular Abu Ghraib again, lest it begin to fall out, snap off, or turn green out of spite. Even now, my head literally hurts from the chemicals. I mean, she was nice enough about it, and I’m sure she’ll do what it takes to put it right, but this whole thing just does not take me to my happy place.
If this is what it takes to be a redhead, is that where they got the expression “blondes have more fun?”
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