Hair
Dye Hell
Kate
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in issue nine: humor
Scintillations
Hair Dye Hell
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I once heard Ani DiFranco say, “You have to laugh at
yourself sometimes, because you’d be crying your eyes out if
you didn’t.” I recently had reason to test this theory out
when I discovered the horrors of a hair dye-job gone wrong.
It all started with my friend Kelly—or that’s who
I’ll blame it on, anyway. She dyed her hair this fantastic
hot pink color and her face absolutely glowed (in a good way).
Every time I saw her with her pink hair, I was reminded of how
relaxed she looked, and some synapse in my brain that controls
(or doesn’t control) my shoe-buying impulses began flashing:
“I want that! I want that!”
I began to believe that if I, too, had funky pink hair,
I would be care-free. I would be wild and fun and more
relaxed. Pink hair, I reasoned, would be symbolic of the
recent changes in my life: graduation from college, moving to
California, and attending graduate school.
I figured that since I had never done anything very
wild with my hair before, it would be best to move in
increments. I decided that instead of dyeing my whole head
pink, I’d just put in highlights. So I nervously made the
trip to the salon and spent three hours sitting in a chair to
have magenta-pink highlights put in. After some debate, I
decided that the highlights should be permanent. The problem
was that it would cost me at least $100 to do this permanently
and professionally. Could I really stomach spending that much
money on my hair? I ended up rationalizing that if I was going
to do something that was this “different,” I shouldn’t
do it half-way. Wash-out dye was for sissies!
When I got out of the salon I had mixed feelings about
my pink hair. Mentally, I don’t think I prepared myself for
how different I was going to look. I walked into the salon
looking like straight-laced, conservative Kate. I walked out
looking less conservative but ultimately not like the
completely carefree personae I had envisioned. Pre-pink
highlights, my hair was the one thing I was vain about. No
matter how much I criticized my thighs, I really had an ego
about my hair. It was shiny and healthy with streaks of
sun-kissed blonde, and I received compliments on it all of the
time. Now I had done something to it that I wasn’t so sure
I’d receive compliments on.
I had expected some of the pink dye to run out when I
shampooed, but this dye kept running…and running…and
running, despite the fact that I waited the requisite 48 hours
to shampoo it and spent $10 for some fancy shampoo that
promised to keep the dye in. Each shower became an anxious
process of watching pink dye run down my body and into the
drain, and I rushed through shaving and other rituals so that
I could get out faster and analyze what had happened to my
hair in a mirror. After a few shampoos, I began to look like
I’d had a few sloppy make-out sessions with Mr. Kool-Aid.
Some parts of my hair retained the original magenta. Other
parts faded to a cotton candy pink color. Still others were
this sick orangey-pink color, like the color of poached
salmon. The permanent dye job that I had been promised was
less than a week old, and already it looked grown out.
I was disappointed, but since I’d moved to a
different state, I couldn’t exactly go back to the original
salon and have it fixed. So, with a sigh, I headed to my local
drug store and spent $10.00 on a home dye kit: Herbal Essences
#48.5, “Spicy Ginger.” I knew that I couldn’t go back to
my original dark blonde color because the pinkish bits would
show through. I knew I needed something dark enough to cover
up the pink, so I opted for a burgundy red. I was fairly
comfortable choosing a color because I’d dyed my hair
frequently over the years, experimenting with different hues
of brown and red and blonde. I figured that my bad experience
with pink hair color was only 20 short minutes away from being
covered up. Armed with the “Spicy Ginger” hair dye and a
magazine to read while it processed, I headed home, applied
the dye, and read up on the latest in eye shadow and fashion.
You know how self-defense experts say that you should
listen to those “little voices” inside that tell you when
something is wrong with a situation, even when everything
appears to be fine? Well, I guess that my hair has its own
intuition, because I got a “funny feeling” as I mixed the
dye with the activating cream in my bathroom.
“Gosh,
that looks really
orange,” I thought to myself as I shook the plastic bottle.
I stopped and checked the bottle versus the box to make sure
that nothing had been mixed up with the packaging. Nope—both
said they were color #48.5.
Twenty minutes after applying the dye, my roommate came
running out of her room after hearing me scream: “Oh!
My! Fucking! GAWD!”
My hair was neon orange. Not bright red, not orange-ish,
not something anyone would make cute “carrot top” jokes
about. It was BRIGHT NEON ORANGE. If I had walked outside at
night, cars passing by would have thought my head was a
mysterious glowing orb in the distance. I was on the verge of
tears as I panicked and began to frantically call every local
stylist I could find. Two hours and $85 poorer, I made my way
back home trying desperately not to cry, but thankful that the
stylist had managed to cover up the neon orange with a
burgundy red color.
As I relayed the story on to friends and family members
over the next few days, each one chuckled and—silently of
course—thanked their lucky stars that they were not the
unfortunate victim of neon orange hair. And me—well, let’s
just say I’m taking things one day at a time. I still
frantically check my roots after each shampoo for signs that
the stylist’s cover-up dye job might not have worked, and I
avoid the hair color aisle at my local drug store with some
bitterness. And, of course, Clairol got a rather heavy-handed
phone call from me. But above all, I’ve learned a very, very
valuable lesson:
Magenta
highlights: $105.00
Special shampoo to make color last longer: $10.00
Herbal Essences Dye to cover the faded highlights: $10.00
Emergency trip to the stylist to fix neon orange hair: $85.00
LEARNING
THAT YOU SHOULD NEVER TRY TO CHANGE WHO YOU ARE FROM THE
OUTSIDE-IN: PRICELESS.
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