I love the look of black hair. Blue-black, slick, shiny hair. My natural hair color - at least for the first 27 years of my life - was black/brown.
I hated it.
Too straight and too dark.
I did all I could to change it. I began when I was 13 by boiling onion skins and trying to highlight it. I then discovered Sun-In. Yeah, that worked... a little. I then took the (dumb) plunge; I tried combing straight peroxide onto it. Yeah. No. Not enough. Long story short, I ended up pouring not one, but two bottles of the stuff onto my hair. I did this at my cousin's house. We were both really wanting to do something drastic. She didn't. But she did walk with me to the local 7-11 to buy peroxide. She didn't try to talk me out of buying two bottles. Perhaps she thought one was for her hair. Nope. Then, when I was done, she simply muttered; "Uh, Mary..."
|Yep. Orange just like Greg's.|
When I came home from their house, I quickly walked into my bedroom. My mom came in and her smile faded. No, she didn't cry. She yelled. I'll leave that to your imagination.
Now, I have always loved extreme hair stuff; colors, cuts. I have always wanted a really short, almost shaved look. I tried it one time and I guess the shape of my head just doesn't facilitate that type of cut. So I gave up on the short stuff and went long.
Let's now fast-forward to the present. Kind of. In the not so distant past, I decided to go gray. 100% me. No dye. I liked it. My kids loved it. So did my husband. So did strangers. I still like it. The only problem is that it's no longer grey/white.
Now, it's blue/black.
I had been playing with the idea of going black for a few months. I have had a really bad year, physically and one day, when things were really bad and my emotions were at an all-time frenzied mess, I did it; I dyed my hair black. Blue black.
It was a big shock when I first saw it. My husband hated it. Black is dark, isn' it? . Yeah. Very. As the days went on, I grew to really like it, more and more. It showed off my eyes, I thought. In photos, I could really see my Mexican/Spanish side, now. I really liked that.
I began reading how to care for dyed black hair. The more I read, the more discouraged and regretful I became. I learned that dying your hair black is way more damaging than bleaching it.
My hair feels like straw. If I don't condition it for like 5 minutes after I shampoo it, I can't even brush it, let alone get a comb through it. But that's not the worst part. Now, my roots are coming in. There is no way, as lovely at is it, that I will dye the roots black. No freakin' way. So, what to do? Let the gray grow back and keep cutting it? I'm thinking yeah. I hate to say this, but I simply cannot afford to get it done professionally right now. I know, I sound cheap and tacky. Whatever. I keep hearing Dolly Parton as Truvy in Steel Magnolias saying, "I can spot a bottle-job from a mile away." Yeah well. Whatever. Medical crap has made me poor... okay not poor, but I certainly cannot afford to shell out $150 to repair what I did to it. Yes, I know I ruined it. I accept full responsibility.
I'm letting the black grow out. It won't be quiet the ombre-look, but at least it will be free of chemicals. I may go back to brown. Maybe. Some say I look much younger with brown... others say I look sexy with the silver. It's all opinion. Mine is the most important. So, the next time you see me, I will definitely have some silver streaks in with the black.
Oh, and I also want to apologize to my mom. She too used to dye her white locks black. I used to give her so much flack about it. I'm sorry, Ma.
Until next time,