My natural hair colour is dark brown.
As a youngster, it was almost black, and in my teens Mum’s female students would often ask what ‘Number’ it was off the chemist’s shelf.
Growing up, my hair was nearly always kept short, but I’ve always wanted long flowing locks, though it never seemed to happen as split ends or impatience always got the better of me.
I had my first, and only, dyed colour in my twenties. Yes, I had toyed with henna shampoos and the occasional Harmony auburn or chestnut rinse, but they didn’t seem to do anything so I cleared it with the Ex-to-be and went to the hairdresser for a professional job.
The idea was to have flecks of gold and red in my dark mop that would catch the light and glimmer beautifully when I moved my head. Yeah, great, if I wore a light bulb permanently as a hat.
In short, it didn’t work, though the hairdresser, bless him, tried his best.
As a last resort, he pulled some of my hair through one of those pin holed scalp caps and bleached it, then dyed those strands the colours I’d originally chosen.
It could’ve been worse I suppose, gone bright orange or all fallen out, but the end result was thirty five quid down the plughole with the soapsuds and no difference whatsoever.
Twinky stinky perms I had at a later date, short and bubbly which was the original wash and go, or longer and wavy which required blow drying with mousse, gels, curved brushes and tongs.
It was a pain, took an age, and looked great until I went outside. The hairdresser would of course do it perfectly and I was so lacquered, my hair stood still when I turned my head sideways. Trying to brush it out later was painful and I’m surprised I didn’t have bald patches.
Today, my hair is long, easy to manage (scraped back in a ponytail most days) and has hues of grey, white and brown (ish).
A little while ago with the possibility of chemo and hair loss, I thought about wigs in bright colours, such as pink or purple. I promised photos too if it came to that, but all being well I should just have to have radiotherapy, which quite honestly is a huge relief.
Hubby took a picture of me this morning, quite a good one actually, but excuse the baggy trousers!
I asked him to play with his photoshop magic and tweak me (it didn’t hurt) a bit.
These are the results.
I’m rather taken by the pink myself.