After talking to a friend about my lacklustre hair recently she revealed that a simple trim of her fringe can buy her another month before she must head back to the hairdresser for a complete cut and colour. Apparently the small touch up extends the life of her bigger, more expensive do from eight weeks to 12 thus increasing her mane's value for money.
I was very intrigued to hear more from my knowledgeable friend since my head hasn't seen the inside of a hairdresser for longer than I care to admit. Let's just put it this way, the closest my hair has come to a pair of scissors, foil and a spine-tingling head massage is when E smears soggy wheatbix across the top of my head to create what I like to call my Cute Cereal Comb-Over. Va va puke!
We discussed colour, cut, length, to fringe or not to fringe, preferred brands for shampoo and conditioning, and how regrowth can be the most ghastly, terrifying experience known to womankind the world over except, however, when others try to convince you they can't see it.
We discussed colour, cut, length, to fringe or not to fringe, preferred brands for shampoo and conditioning, and how regrowth can be the most ghastly, terrifying experience known to womankind the world over except, however, when others try to convince you they can't see it.
She made me laugh because it was true. Women feel compelled to lie to other women about regrowth. More specifically, that it (somehow?!) suits them.
You know those moments when you complain to girlfriends about not being to the hairdresser for donkies and your hair has reached that out-of-control, only-wear-it-in-a-ponytail stage? Despite presenting all your best evidence, your girlfriends somehow manage to win the argument with a well executed rebuttal along the lines of, 'No! Where? I can't see anything! You can't even notice it. Honestly, it looks very natural.' When really what they wanted to say was, 'Yes you have regrowth and you do need to see the hairdresser immediately, preferably sooner, but it's not so bad that I won't be seen with you...yet.'
When my mates tell me they can't see the four inches of dark brown hair taking over my blonde head faster than a cruel dictator, every inch of my being knows they are telling a white lie. They know I know they are lying, but I'm happy to accept their position because it allows me to wrangle several more weeks out of visiting my overpriced hairdresser, where - when finally there - I will be so guilt ridden I hadn't booked in earlier, I will be obligated to blame being a busy Mum instead of telling her the truth which is that I just couldn't be bothered getting off the couch and missing an episode of The Circle.
I digress. My point is, regrowth is work of the devil designed to have me utter blasphemies against colour itself. It's like a fungus taking over that which only very expensive remedies can fix. Remedies I can no longer justify to my partner when my son needs new winter clothes and the car needs a service.
Imagine if regrowth was a contagious disease. Women on public transport would run faster than Usain Bolt, trying to get to the next train carriage to escape the wrath that is disgusting, ugly-fying regrowth. I can hear it now, ‘OMG! Move. She has regrowth and I can’t catch that. I’ll die! GET OUT OF MY WAY’, the gorgeous well-groomed girl would scream as she ran knocking over elderly men and women in her wake to avoid the fatal toxic poison that is non-coloured hair.
I digress. My point is, regrowth is work of the devil designed to have me utter blasphemies against colour itself. It's like a fungus taking over that which only very expensive remedies can fix. Remedies I can no longer justify to my partner when my son needs new winter clothes and the car needs a service.
Imagine if regrowth was a contagious disease. Women on public transport would run faster than Usain Bolt, trying to get to the next train carriage to escape the wrath that is disgusting, ugly-fying regrowth. I can hear it now, ‘OMG! Move. She has regrowth and I can’t catch that. I’ll die! GET OUT OF MY WAY’, the gorgeous well-groomed girl would scream as she ran knocking over elderly men and women in her wake to avoid the fatal toxic poison that is non-coloured hair.
Despite the hatred I have towards regrowth (my own that is, on others it is perfectly acceptable because you can hardly see it anyway) it seems two-tone hair is the colour de jour.
From Drew Barrymore to Erin Wasson and many others, a half-brown, half-blonde head is in. Not just in like cute ballet flats or Zooey Deschanel, but a highly desirable style! And while this expensive grungy look has been around for many a month, even year, I still can't manage to utter the words, 'I'm growing it out like SJP' from fear that what I'll actually end up with will look more Roadkill Slick than Revlon Colorsilk.
Sadly my friend and I didn't get a chance to discuss blow-drying techniques, designer hair straighteners or celebrity styles, but one day I'm sure we'll look back and laugh at the memories of the hair we use to have on the way to get our purple rinses. Three months late of course.
Image of Erin Wasson from here.
From Drew Barrymore to Erin Wasson and many others, a half-brown, half-blonde head is in. Not just in like cute ballet flats or Zooey Deschanel, but a highly desirable style! And while this expensive grungy look has been around for many a month, even year, I still can't manage to utter the words, 'I'm growing it out like SJP' from fear that what I'll actually end up with will look more Roadkill Slick than Revlon Colorsilk.
Sadly my friend and I didn't get a chance to discuss blow-drying techniques, designer hair straighteners or celebrity styles, but one day I'm sure we'll look back and laugh at the memories of the hair we use to have on the way to get our purple rinses. Three months late of course.
Image of Erin Wasson from here.
No comments:
Post a Comment