I personally have struggled to NOT be a blonde all my life. Every 2 or 3 years I venture into ‘other hair color territory,’ in the hopes that people will be so taken with my appearance as a redhead or a brunette that I will be able to get off this very expensive ride known as ‘The Highlight Express.’ When I’m not a blonde, most people will comment on my hair, saying things like, “It’s lovely and simple.” or “It really brings out your skin tone.” But the minute I go back to being a blonde, those same people will inevitably say “You really are a blonde!” or “Hooray you’re back to blonde!”
My natural hair color is what I like to call dirty dishwater brown, an unfortunate color that is now only seen on Amish women who aren’t allowed to change their hair color. I see them selling their chickens at the farmer’s market and I’m dying to say to them “You have no idea how just a few highlights would really brighten your face!” But then again, they don’t believe in zippers, so I think a trip to Vidal Sassoon is out of the question.
Recently, I experienced bad highlights AND a bad cut, which combined to make full on Soccer Mom hair! Soccer Mom Hair, or SMH, is very much like Mom Jeans. It’s practical, subtle, and easy to maintain – every thing I hate! To me it says, “I’ve decided that I’d like to project the sexual intensity of a banana slug!” (No offense to any of you sexy banana slugs out there. You keep workin’ it!)
Nic and I were friends during this extremely painful time in my life and she was nothing if not supportive. “It’s fine,” she assured me after my transformation into Soccer Mom. “It’s better,” she told me the after the second appointment for more highlights around the face. And when I finally went to a new hairdresser and achieved “proper blondosity” she looked at me as only a blonde sister can and said, “It’s FANTASTIC!”
During this time Nic had her own blonde dilemma, which speaks even more to her generosity during my SMH situation. When a blonde is unhappy with her hair it’s very difficult to focus on someone else’s pain. You see, Nic had decided (possibly after some wine) that her highlights needed updating… immediately. Liquid courage in hand, she was convinced that forcing her husband to apply these fabulous highlights, was the way to go. This would not be a problem if her husband was Jose Eber, but Nic is married to Karl, an amazing director, but the man has no experience with hair. Now in Karl’s defense, his work was not bad for an amateur. It just wasn’t good. Nic wore her hair, every day, in a sort of wild-curly windblown style in the hopes that people wouldn’t notice the disparate color. It worked.
She has since remedied the situation with two additional color attempts, matching my recent three steps to blonde perfection.
I can’t say that there is a lesson to be learned here because we both got bad highlights. Although one of us paid ten bucks and the other paid four hundred. I guess we’ve learned bad highlights can happen anywhere at anytime. So make sure you ask around before you let someone frost or tip. In fact, ask a blonde whose hair you love, and I’m sure she’ll give you an hour-long explanation of how she finally achieved great gold.
P.S. If you can’t afford your salon’s lofty prices, and you haven’t yet obtained your degree in chemistry, may we suggest a stylist in training. We have had great results with Aveda and Toni & Guy teaching salons. Their colorists will stay away from bleach unless otherwise provoked, leaving your hair healthy and happy!