"You know you'll never get a job with hair like that" is a phrase I have heard far too many times. Little did they know, I've been juggling at least two jobs at a time for the past three years. Still, the words struck me like a knife. What was so wrong with my hair? I love my hair! My hair is currently a beautiful shade of baby pink. Yesterday, my hair was a striking shade of bleached blonde. A week ago, my hair was a darker shade of pink.
At the age of 11, my parents allowed me to get highlights and black tips in my hair, because that's what all the "cool kids" were doing. When I was younger, I was absolutely in love with idea of coloring my hair because it was such a new and exciting thing for me. I thought that I was so cool when I went to school the next morning and everyone complimented me on my new hairstyle. Little did I know that from there, I would become mentally addicted to coloring my hair.
It started out just for fun after I began middle school. Highlights with black tips, nothing too special. But after I chopped off the black tips, I decided that I wanted my hair to be even more blonde than it already was. My parents are very supportive of self-expression, so my mom helped me bleach my hair. After I realized that the beautiful new shade of blonde wasn't cool enough, I decided I wanted red tips, so my mom helped me color my hair again. And once the red had faded, I wanted blue streaks, then purple tips, then more blue, and this vicious cycle went on and on. I spent all my allowance money on various shades of Splat hair dye. As my style and personality changed, so did my hair color. I tried every color you could possibly think of throughout my four years in middle school, except one.
Pink.
When I got to freshman year of high school, I decided that I wanted to try something different with my hair. I decided to color all my hair a vibrant shade of dark pink. It was absolutely electrifying. I remember the rush I got from bleaching my hair, then seeing the piercing white locks turn to a color I had only seen before in artificially flavored candies. It was amazing. I was in love. This was my color. I continued into my sophomore year of high school with pink hair, always recoloring it after it faded to a lovely pastel color, mixed with the bleach-blonde streaks of my hair underneath.
"Why would you do that to yourself?" Last time I checked, it was my hair.
"You know that looks ridiculous, right?" But not as ridiculous as someone who approaches a stranger only to complain about their hair color.
"You don't have a natural hair color." And neither do you, random lady with bleach-blonde hair and dark brown roots.
"What's your natural color?" Honestly, I don't know. My hair hasn't been natural in eight years now.
Although I constantly get rude remarks and have older people stare at me when I'm walking down the street, I don't care. All that matters is what I think of my appearance. Coloring my hair is no longer a "fun" activity that I do to express my personality. Over the years, it has become my way of dealing with stress. If I get upset, I run to the nearest CVS and buy some hair dye. If I've had a stressful week, I color my hair again. It's a bad habit that I am aware of, and wish I could do something about, but I honestly can't.
Last year, I had to go a full six months without coloring my hair, because my hair was so damaged that I was on the verge of going entirely bald. It was terrible. All I wanted and thought about was the need to color my hair. I was a mess. My roots were ridiculous, and my once-beautiful shade of pink had faded into a lackluster shade of blonde with small traces of the pink that was once there. I hated it. I literally counted down the days until I could alter the appearance of my hair again. I longed for the joy I felt from placing the bottle of dye to my hair. I craved the nauseating scent of the ammonia filling my bathroom, stinging my eyes and making my nose run. I was in serious withdrawal. It was like I had lost an old friend.
I wish I could say that I managed to deal with my bizarre addiction, but as soon as the six-month period was over, I immediately bleached my hair. I wish I hadn't. Part of me wishes that I had just let my hair grow out so that I could eventually have my natural color again, but the other part of me knows that that is only a wish and almost definitely won't happen -- at least not in the near future.
I have been coloring my hair for eight years now. I currently have five boxes of pink dye and four bottles of hair bleach stored under my bed. I don't know if I can or will ever stop my colorful addiction.
