Complacent color, hair wise, is something that I am not familiar with. As soon as I get dark enough, I want to be blonde, as soon as I reach color appropriate for Baywatch casting, I immediately want to dye my fresh roots to match my black caviar Chanel.
I feel like I am in a constant battle of playing hard to get with my hair.
Yesterday morning was Exhibit A:
My sister and I arrived at our barre class a couple minutes early (she is so punctual that it actually sometimes gives me lateness withdrawal shakes), and I was browsing through Pinterest on my phone.
I asked her, "Should I dye my hair dark or am I just bored?" She said to go for it, and yes, that I was just bored. We took our barre class, and after staring at my roots in the mirror for an hour, I called my hair salon as I was walking out the door of the studio. "I want to be brunette again. Today. What time can you get me in?" And the rest of the story is as old as last month's issue of Vogue.
I follow only two rules in regards to hair:
1. Never listen to anyone but yourself. That b*tch loves your trashy, grown out ombré. Yeah, I bet she does. Up hers.
2. Never chop off all of your hair post-break up. If the b*stard dumps you, you get a blow out, not an emotionally scarring hairdo. Giving yourself an angry and depressed lesbian cut, at a time when it is not chic and liberating to do so, shoots the poor Hermès horse in the foot - you'd do less damage (and get more satisfaction out of) throwing your 8-piece Hermès dining set on the marble floor.
Moral of the post? Don't be a complacent basic betch and do what you want. After three issues of Harper's Bazaar, two dye jobs, and one bottle of prosecco, I'm currently espresso brown...like the Americano I'm drinking this morning, except less watered down.