As many of you who know me IRL are already aware, last week I cut and dyed my hair.
Front page news, I know.
But seriously folks, after not having had a haircut in three years, and having never dyed my hair (other than with chalk colours or washable markers in high school), it was sort of a big deal for me – and I went through the corresponding stages of mental insanity before and after the big chop.
Just for fun this week, since I’m sure you’re inundated with “get in shape for 2018!” and “lose ten pounds in two weeks!” resolution-y stuff all over the internet, I’m going to take this week off writing about fitness and nutrition and fill you in on what it’s like to cut nearly 13 inches off your hair and bleach it to high heavens for the first time ever.
STAGE 1 (pre-cut; browsing on Instagram): EXCITEMENT & BADASSERY – who’s gonna stop me now? I’m gonna cut my hair, b*tches. I see all these celebs with cute, wavy lobs (translation: long bobs) and I bet I’ll look just as cute. Cuter, maybe. Ok maybe not as cute as Cara Delevigne, but somewhere between Khloe Kardashian and Julianne Hough levels of cuteness. Yeah, I got this. I’m gonna be the hair envy of every other blonde on the block. I am such a baws.
You are so beautiful, to me. Can’t you see?
STAGE 2 (after making appointment): FEAR & LOATHING – why in the fresh hell did I make that appointment? I should probably cancel it. Yeah, I think I’m feeling sick anyway, my Chinese zodiac said something about not making major life changes this year so I’ll just bump this cut to 2019 to ensure double happiness. My hair is fine the way it is, I can braid away the split ends and paint over the greys and no one will be the wiser. Yep, all good.
STAGE 3 (at salon, after first snip): DISBELIEF & RAGE – did that psychopath just cut my hair with actual scissors? WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FOLD-IT-UNDER AND SHOW ME THE POTENTIAL LENGTH BEFOREHAND THING?!?!? Is that MY blonde-ass hair on the floor? Is this real life? Did someone authorise this act of brutality? Show me this man’s aesthetician license. SHOW IT TO ME RIGHT NOW SO HELP ME GOD. I can probably get a work visa in Cambodia until this grows out, right? BECAUSE I CANNOT BE SEEN IN PUBLIC WITH HUMANS FOR MINIMUM FIVE CALENDAR MONTHS.
Like honestly it felt like he was balding me.
STAGE 4 (at salon, after colour is finished): CAREFUL ACCEPTANCE – ok, so the cut is whack, but I’m pretty sure I’m now a modern-day Marilyn Monroe with this ice blonde amazingness. Is this colourist a magician? Is it still going to look like this when I leave or will it wash out in the rain like my old Crayola-marker highlights? You can’t see a single grey hair on my head because it’s so platinum. Gwen Stefani, move aside. I think I may be able to be seen outdoors now (albeit after somehow deflating this 1950s bouffant they styled me into toward something more like the “beachy waves” I actually asked for).
Right colour; wrong era.
STAGE 5 (a week later, after a multitude of kind words and compliments from dear friends & clients): PEACE & JOY – it’s just hair, Amanda, holy sh*t. Get over yourself. #firstworldproblems to the maximum degree. It looks a thousand times healthier, more modern, and stylish than the brassy mop you used to carry around on that narrow head of yours, and it shows that you’re able to actually take a risk every once in a while. Breathe. Recover. Now grab your can of thickening spray, bust out that little round brush, and take that bangin’ new ‘do out on the town!
The finished product.
And so we did. Alls well that ends well – and #2018yearofthebadass is off to an epic start!
Do you plan to make any major changes in the coming year? What and why?
thisfitblonde 