Let me just preface this post by stating that I am a genius. Geniuses look at bleach and think “Just brush it in and you’ll be blonde and that about sums it up.” Little do geniuses know that their scalp is waving the white flag, begging that nasty squeeze bottle full of death to cease fire. This tragedy, made possible by a measly paycheck and Sally’s Beauty Supply, didn’t even cover my entire hair length. And then I put some red on it? My first dye job was a disaster.
After the jump is a photo of my hair’s meltdown that took a great deal of courage for me to publicize.
In conjunction with my earlier hair evolution post, this post takes the cake in embarrassment.
Although you can’t tell from this picture, the color of my tresses ranged from bright red to dark brown because my friend wasn’t able to cover my hair entirely with bleach. After bleaching, she brushed in this fiery red color that looked beautiful but only on several lucky portions of strands. The worst part of my experience that qualifies me as the poster child for “Don’t Try This At Home” was that I WAS DIGGING IT. I finally departed from my boring dark brown look… a little too much.
The bleach tragedy burned initially, but the real consequence came later when chunks of my scalp came out while I was at Warped Tour – the one day I was supposed to look hot and punk and stuff and bag my awkward self a boyfriend so we could listen to AFI, Finch, and NOFX and be together 4ever. I live an unfair life.
That summer was also the summer before my senior year and I got my graduation pictures taken with this hair. My high school colors were red and white, meaning my hair sickeningly clashed with my graduation gown.
I also got my driver’s license that summer as well. My face was sunburned from, well, living in Texas, and the picture I carried in my wallet for a year looked like some had splattered red paint on my license. So many accomplishments occurred during my redheaded-ness that it’s almost eerie.
Towards the end of my senior year, I ended up chopping my hair off and dying it black, mimicking Karen O’s hairstyle at the time. Before I finally landed on a look that complimented my face’s shape and complexion, I dabbled in Manic Panic too many times, and that stuff rubs off on EVERYTHING, EVERYWHERE.
Despite the ridicule towards my former self for this dye job, I still remember how I felt in my glory days of new hair color. I can’t remember being so pleasantly unimpeded by beauty standards and “appropriate” looks. For the first time, I did what I wanted with my hair and was so sublimely happy with the unconventional outcome. And during high school? My recollections are foggy but I was generally self-conscious and fearful of standing out. To have colored to my hair wildly and strut down the hallways unabashedly in a botched dye job was uncharacteristic. Looking back, I’m so proud of myself.
This is my hair now, with the same super teethy smile. I’ve been back to my natural color for some time but now with a few white hairs I’m holding fast to. I get bored often and change it up, but I learned my lesson about bleach and colors that don’t belong near my follicles. I’ll never retreat to that state of genius again.
Was your first dye job a disaster? Any funny stories or pictures?