A Farewell to The Black Hair

Welp, it's the end of an era. After nearly three months (sans touch up) of black-hair-ness, it's time to go back to my roots. Literally. I know people say to try new things and let your hair be a palette for your creativity, but I doubt the skunk look is gonna be gracing fashion magazines any time soon.

I've always wanted to be outrageous, hair-wise. The whole 'fro look when the humidity rises over 2% helps, but in terms of color, I'm your average blond. I never understood dyeing your hair brown and rocking the secretary cut. Even in 7th grade, when I tried to pretend normalcy was a thing I could do, my supposed brown 'do turned out a lovely mixture of purple and red. I don't even know how that happened. I was gonna switch to blue streaks, but at the time my father threatened to get the same look, which would have been social suicide in middle school.

Personally, I think black tips would've looked coolest if the hairdresser hadn't freaking tried to hide them under my hair.

But one thing I've found is that hair experiments don't just make you look different--they make you act different as well. I mean, I may not give the Plastics their run for their money, but I was the coolest I'd ever been with black tips. I even stayed up until 11:00! Miracles, people. Colored tips also are fantastic motivation to fry your head every day. Perhaps some of this coolness coincides with the fact that I was boyfriend-ed at the time, but let's not go there.

Black hair resulted in multiple personalities (but not the scary kind). At first, I was a witch. People literally thought that I was wearing a wig and could cast spells at them. One of those things is not true. Other times, I was chic, seeing as my dark eyebrows no longer stood out screaming "hey look! I have no intention of matching any other hair on this body! Let's look like fuzzy caterpillars!" Most of the time, I was obviously lazy once the roots started coming back with a vengeance.

Although I wasn't aware of this until like two seconds ago, the constant change in hair color/style was the quest for A) a look that wouldn't require an hour with the straightener and B) the most drastic change possible. And since I've found it, I see no reason to experiment any farther with color. I had to have some act of badassery in college--and yes, it was a completely sober decision.

In a perfect world, the dead skin cells on top of my head would cooperate and look like this:

Then again, that might only look good on the 120 lb sort. Damn you, freshman 15.


Namaste.