I recently died my hair red, not like Ronald McDonald red more auburn; less Run Lola Run and more Emma Stone ala Easy A (at least I hope). The idea had been floating around my head for some time, but was surrounded by a cloud of fear and apprehension. I’d muster up courage then lose my nerve last minute. I asked Ollie’s opinion on the matter a frustratingly ludicrous number of times, “Should I? Shouldn’t I?” each time he replied laxly “Sure, why not?”. His carefree attitude bothered me; it seemed simple so why was I finding it so difficult?
I’ve been a brunette pretty much my whole life. Apart from a few failed attempts at blonde (more like brassy yellow/golden orange), I’ve kept my locks an au naturel mousy brown. Brown hair is or was a part of my identity, I liked the way it made me feel; understated, elegant, original and unclichéd. For me, brown hair is synonymous with intelligence and class ala Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O. I liked feeling as though I was natural lady, low maintenance down to earth. Bright bottled red is the antithesis of this; would it make me seem fake, vain or like a real girly girl?
How would I identify as a redhead? What does it mean to be a ranga? I’ve always felt red haired girls were the quirky ones; into anime, weird foreign films and tofu. Was I ready to have this label? Moreover, would I need to change my wardrobe, my brown hair was neutral but would red clash with certain colours? If I wore green would I look like Christmas? Yes these are the inane thoughts that plagued me at 3am.
There were some more sensible reasons why I hesitated before turning into a bona fide blood nut. I’d been red once before, when I was a bucktooth, gangly teen. I put a LIVE semi-permanent rinse with some alliterated name like Radiant Red through my hair and that shit stuck like nothing else. The red hues wouldn’t come out for what felt like a lifetime, and I remember making a mental note to never do it again unless I was really sure.
I don’t really know what changed - but I rode to the chemist one afternoon after work, got a dye and did a home job without even thinking twice. All of a sudden my worries seemed trivial, irrelevant, just plain stupid. I couldn’t believe the way I was viewing hair almost as an extension of one’s identity. I was stereotyping, fixating, and placing way to much importance on something which will always grows back. If I hated it I could always die it brown and let it grow out. I could chop it, bleach it, change it somehow. When I thought about it I’ve never judged my nearest and dearest on their hair, so why was I assuming they’d judge me.
The whole dying experience was traumatic to say the least. As a seasoned home hair dresser I can say red has been my biggest challenge yet. It goes absolutely everywhere; in the tiles and grout, even on the roof. I had scarlet hands and earlobes, miscellaneous red stripes on my boobs and shoulders and some pretty interesting red splodges on my back I just couldn’t reach. I bleached everything till my skin was stinging and head was dizzy. For days every time I had shower it looked like the murderous scene from Psycho, my pillow case inherited a red tinge, and every time it rained the droplets turned pink upon hitting in my head. It's settled a little now, and the colour has set in. Despite all the difficulties, I’m super happy with the end result and feel totally liberated.