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Apr. 8th, 2005 12:04 amI think I'm about ready to break up with blue-black hair dye. Again.
For some reason, ever since the nuclear red fiasco some months back, black dye has not been a visitor in my hair for very long. When it's freshly done, it's gorgeous and shiny and blacker then black black. I wash it one or two times (and I only wash my hair about once every week or so) and it begins to fade to this noxious greenish-brownish colour on the ends. Hideous.
Couple that with the never-ending parade of grey hair slowly creeping through the frontlines and you make for an extremely unhappy Tara.
I've been contemplating going back to red, but that would involve a serious round of bleaching. My body is weary of bleach and toner and one red dye, then another red over top of it. I refuse to allow my hair to go back to its natural state, either. They don't make my natural shade in dye, and for a good reason: it looks like ass on the half shell. Something which I've attempted to explain to my father since I was fifteen and just starting to experiment with hair colour. He never understood this and every single time I change it, he asks why I won't just dye it back to its original colour. Dishwater blonde. Horrifying. He thinks its rather pretty, but considering that particular statement comes from a man who performs self-dentistry, I'll have to pass on it.
This never-ending struggle to keep my hair black is growing tiresome.
When I get paid next week, I reckon I'll be shelling out the money at the beauty supply store to make with the pretty. It also wants cutting, so Angel will be enlisted for some mid-afternoon hair styling on the sly in the office.
For some reason, ever since the nuclear red fiasco some months back, black dye has not been a visitor in my hair for very long. When it's freshly done, it's gorgeous and shiny and blacker then black black. I wash it one or two times (and I only wash my hair about once every week or so) and it begins to fade to this noxious greenish-brownish colour on the ends. Hideous.
Couple that with the never-ending parade of grey hair slowly creeping through the frontlines and you make for an extremely unhappy Tara.
I've been contemplating going back to red, but that would involve a serious round of bleaching. My body is weary of bleach and toner and one red dye, then another red over top of it. I refuse to allow my hair to go back to its natural state, either. They don't make my natural shade in dye, and for a good reason: it looks like ass on the half shell. Something which I've attempted to explain to my father since I was fifteen and just starting to experiment with hair colour. He never understood this and every single time I change it, he asks why I won't just dye it back to its original colour. Dishwater blonde. Horrifying. He thinks its rather pretty, but considering that particular statement comes from a man who performs self-dentistry, I'll have to pass on it.
This never-ending struggle to keep my hair black is growing tiresome.
When I get paid next week, I reckon I'll be shelling out the money at the beauty supply store to make with the pretty. It also wants cutting, so Angel will be enlisted for some mid-afternoon hair styling on the sly in the office.