This Was A Bad Idea
...A really, really bad idea.
More than twenty years ago, I made friends with a hilarious chick via AOL's chat rooms. Those were truly awesome evenings filled with laughter and tasteless puns. We are roughly the same age.
"Blondes have more fun!" she joked one evening. "People are nicer to us, too."
Was the blonde stereotype accurate? She was a natural blonde and I was a natural brunette. People treated me like a clever plain Jane. People treated her with great kindness after assuming blondes are stupid. Or something like that.
I was working chair-side surgery at the time. It was an all-blonde office excluding me and the surgeon. I went to the beautician on base and had her frost my hair. Lisa went to her hair dresser and dyed her hair dark brown.
The result? Blondes do have more fun. My interactions with people took on an entirely different, absolutely foreign air. It was weird. Brunettes are received differently, just one more person in a world of persons.
We promised we'd to the experiment again when she turned 50 (I'm a year older).
She sent a DM via Twitter a few weeks ago. It was time to see if age had any bearing on the blonde theory.
Let's do this!
I'm 51. My hair has turned to mouse brown and keeps company with grey and silver strands. I don't mind it. I'm hoping it all turns silver by time I'm 60.
I also look haggard. Life has been a butt. I don't spend money on expensive creams for wrinkles, or toners, or a plethora of other treatments used to hold back those ravages of time. I didn't expect much to change when I slapped the bleaching crap on my head.
I purchased L'Oréal Paris Feria "Absolute Platinum". It lightens up the 7 shades. Potent stuff. (I would throw on smokey silver once the "blonde experiment" came to an end.)
Application was easy but my timing was way off. Coat hair for 20 minutes, then coat roots and leave on an additional 20 minutes. I used the kitchen timer app on my phone.
A test revealed some lovely blonde strands. I took a photo. It paused my timer.
I hadn't looked at the clock when setting that timer. I had no way of knowing how much time had gone by, nor how much longer I had left. It was a kitten-shitting moment for me. I erred on the sign of caution after ten minutes. Into the shower to rinse and add the blue conditioner meant to tone down oranges and reds.
I feared over-processing had left it translucent. Nope. I was shocked...it matched Boris Johnson's head. As the former (disgraceful) Prime Minister for the UK, his was a look I had no intention of obtaining. The only thing worse than this is matching parts of TFG's comb-over.
Meanwhile, the cap on Lisa's applicator bottle popped off. She had brown dye down her back, on top of her breasts, on the bathroom countertop, the floor, the rug, her favorite hand towel, and a few drips on her cat. It's a white cat.
[insert my smug cackling concerning the cat's plight]
We're too old for this shit. Lisa was horrified by all the stains. She made an appointment with her hairdresser on Monday. She planned to wear her grandson's ball cap until then.
I was too ashamed to go out in public but I sucked it up long enough to run into Walgreens for dye.
L'Oréal Paris Feria Permanent Hair Color, 21 Starry Night (Bright Black)
I have blue stains on my face and ears. Such is life these days. We are all learning from mistakes. Besides, I still have hair on my head.
Hair color is just an expression of something different that you want to have, or something creative.