I went through with it, I dyed my hair red.

That is not entirely accurate.  I paid somebody to dye my hair red.  My hair stylist is magnificent.  If anyone in the north Seattle area is looking for someone, it’s Keri at The Split End.  They have very good prices, and Keri is a magician.  Anyway, somewhere like 10 weeks ago, when I had my last appointment, she mentioned that her schedule was kind of weird because she was going to be attending L’Oreal color school.  I jokingly mentioned that she could always experiment on me, when she mentioned maybe trying red.  Then that got me thinking…. I had never even considered red hair.  But all of a sudden, I needed it.  That night, I went home and started a red hair pinboard.  Yes, I’m that girl. Then as time wore on, I became increasingly antsy to go through with this red hair hoopla.  But she had color school, and vacations.  How is a girl supposed to survive with her hairstylist having a personal life!? Unacceptable.  Regardless, I finally made it in last night.  And began to panic.  This is normal for me.  I grow my hair long, decide that I need a short bob, get it cut, then spend the night feeling a great sense of loss.  Of all the hair colors that I’ve had (and in high school, I had many: teal, green, elmo red, purple, pink, blue), for some reason, red felt the riskiest.  Maybe I’m just getting old.  So I figured to take my mind off of it (or to obsess a little more), I’d live post it on facebook. Everyone loves reading post after post about incredibly minor and self-caused hysteria, right?

I started by taking a selfie on the way there.  I sent it to Craig.  This is also where I apologize for my cell phone camera.  The lens cover is full of dust and I don’t have the tools to remove the back of the phone to clean the dust out.

brunette hair with bangs
The first thing we did was put some crazy chemical in my hair to strip out the existing color.  It was not bleach.  Closer to paint stripper for your hair.  The goal was to remove the dark dark brown color that had thoroughly lodged itself in the majority of my hair.  What also took place during this process was Keri tempering my expectations.  Since we were chemically removing color, then adding more in, she made it clear that the first go-round of “corrective color” is generally less than perfect.  I figured.  My experience in highschool with attempting to remove darker colors was not always successful.  Seems reasonable.  Smart of her to do that though.  I had secretly hoped that magically, my shoulder length dark brown hair would transform into some sort of crimson butt-length twirly masterpiece.  Spoiler – it didn’t.  😦
chemically stripped hair drying
Above, you’ll see me sitting, waiting for my hair to complete drying, after we had stripped the color from it and done the first deep conditioning treatment.  Shockingly, that color was quite nice.  But not red.  We had work to do.
color remover

Here we are with the dye being applied.  I had never seen something red BEFORE going on someone’s head before.  I began panicking.

red hair dye

All of a sudden, this began to feel like a bad idea.  It was too late, obviously.  I posted on facebook.  A male friend’s reply to my post?

I would too . . . your SKIN’S CHANGING COLOR!

That’s comforting.  

Then came time for the rinse out, and ANOTHER deep conditioning treatment.  Strange how treating your hair with the follicular equivalent of aircraft grade paint stripper will dry things out!


And here is the final product!  Great success!

red hair

Here’s a fairly color-correct photo of my hair.  As promised, the color isn’t perfect.  My roots are lighter than the ends.  But everything is red, and doesn’t read quite so orange in real life.  I think next time we’ll go for a slightly more vibrant red, or maybe something with a bit more violet in it.  It will be fun trying out different variations of the color until we get the right tone.  Oh, and the bonus, even though my hair didn’t grow down to my butt over the course of 2.5 hours, Keri gave me twirly hair anyway!

Craig has taken to calling me “Wendy.”

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