MY UNEXPECTED SILVER LINING

I have always had a thing about my “here, baby, there, momma, everywhere, daddy, daddy,
hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair”.

My hair-raising adventures began with a bowling ball peach fuzzy skull kind of deal. And this lasted for way too long in my opinion. But inch by inch my mane presented itself, and according to my mom needed a bit of a chop. Taking matters in her own hands, my mom trimmed… and I use that word lightly …more precisely, she would blindly chop my bangs. First CHOP was a little uneven, so she followed with a second CHOP (!!!!!) to even it out and so on and so forth. You know where this is heading. Yeah, heading straight toward the tip of my hairline where bangs should never venture.

Eventually that fringe grew out to an appropriate down-to-my-brows situation, while the rest of my locks ventured toward my waist. I had loooong hair; my fine strands within shouting distance of my tush. Then, while in tears, I cut it to shoulder length. And from there all hell broke loose. It was one pruning after another. Grew out my bangs, chopped them off, did the shag, had a bowl cut, feather cut, bob, lob, big hair, mall hair, mullet, perm, crimped it, spiked it, highlighted and dyed it. Long, short, cropped, teased, sprayed, moussed, texturized and gelled. You name it. I did it.

And I was a *salon hopper. If I liked the stylish result on the first go, I went back for seconds. The third time was hardly ever (like never) the charm, resulting in my move to a new beauty shop. NEXT! Ask me if I’ve been to your salon of choice and I bet I’ve been there, done that.

Besides all the ‘dos, for years I suffered from blonde, blonder, BLONDEST. It’s a condition that all dyed in the wool, flaxen-haired, card carrying almost  blondies are afflicted with. And it all started (at least for me) with that Sun-In spray, slowly progressing to single process boxed drugstore varietals, and inch by inch advancing to professional painting on of even paler strands of golden locks. Highlighted, lighter, LIGHTEST.

A while back I wrote a “little read” emphasizing my desire to continue paying for my “natural”  hair color. (You can check it out here-> “IT’S NATURALLY MY HAIR COLOR…I PAID FOR IT!”) And while raving about my reliable coverup, I insisted recommended that my global lady club needed to quit busting my chops for not embracing the gray rhetoric.

Gray hair? No way. Nope. Not happening. The minute my roots began their descent was time to slap on the cover up. Nothing to see here.

THEN … THE SHIT HIT THE FAN. And with our omnipresent 2020 spectacle of a shit show (which I definitely think is THE phrase of the year)  I could have been waving a stack of moolah at a fundraising auctioneer offering up a celebrity colorist treatment  – and it would have been worthless. What about my very own personal colorist? NOTHING BUT A DISTANT MEMORY.

Now I know there are far more pressing things happening in our world…. but that’s not what my blogging is about. I’m more of a writer of anecdotal minutiae that says come have a smile, take a load off and let’s take a trip down memory lane. And my in-progress-happening-now minutiae happens to be shouting from the rooftops of my scalp on a daily basis. Hey, I’m here! I know you can see me!

My hairs have been growing – as hair is inclined to do – revealing my real, real, like REALLY REAL, natural color. And the further those from-the-roots hairs travel from their home base of my scalp, the more I want to applaud their shimmery brilliance! Low and behold my going public display of grays are snowy, silvery tinted specimens. So I have to say,  “bring it on!”. All my bottle blonde compadres please feel free to continue with your sun-kissed (wink-wink) reinforcements … I have no beef with you. YOU DO YOU. See I support ALL the varying points of view on hue.    

Fact of the matter is … what began as, OH CRAP what the heck is happening up top, eventually pivoted to calculating how much moolah I could save…. which segued into contemplating a shopping cart full of Home Goods treasures … and finally to … I THINK I’M IN LOVE. Hey, I can pay MYSELF for my natural gray blonde-ish tresses! My how the tides have turned.

Now don’t get me wrong, I haven’t lost all of my vain aging sucks mindset. I mean, I do wonder if it is aging me. Do I look dowdier – ancienter?? Past my prime?Oh my god Karen…stop!! And who cares? Well, I do! . I CAN’T HELP IT. But, I am leaning in and starting to appreciate the frosty strands emerging from my noggin. I’M A PLATINUM BLONDE NOW BABY!

See how I turned my graying bits into a blonde joy to behold? That blonde devotion is a tough habit to kick…

*I am also proud to announce that I am a three year, ninety day rehabilitated salon-jumper. You can now call me a regular!