I’m an itch-scratcher. I’m not a watcher or a wisher; I am most certainly not a regreter.
What does that mean? Six weeks ago I dyed my black hair blonde. Why? Because I really wanted to. Any other reasons? Nope. Did I have any big events happening? Yes—my sister-in-law’s wedding, a trip to Bali, Indonesia, and my husband’s birthday party. So you would think I’d wait until all these events were done, but no, I went ahead and just dyed my hair. If you didn’t read about why I dyed my hair, you can read that here.
Like I mentioned in the previous hair post, one of my good girlfriends in London (Chaz the blondie) encouraged me to dye my hair. Surprisingly, she was the first one to ever encourage that wild dream. I just needed someone to tell me to scratch my itch. We laughed so hard as we watched my hair go from black to mousy brown to vibrant orange and finally to blonde. She helped me through the whole process, and we ended on a brown-blonde (bronde) ombre because the blonde was a really harsh look on my face. I absolutely loved my hair. I remember that moment of exhilaration when I looked at the mirror and I thought, “Heck yes, I finally did it, and it looks amazing!”
Side note: Every girl needs a friend like Chaz. Someone who doesn’t tell you to “reign it in” or maybe “do something subtle” but rather grabs your hand and shouts at the top of her lungs, “LET’S DO THIS!” A friend who isn’t afraid of the unknown because she knows that it’s just hair, it’s just a nail color, it’s just a dance…someone who dares to help you cross things off of your bucket list left and right.
Anyways, back to my head of deliciously bronde hair. We were heading to Bali, and I just felt like my hair couldn’t be more perfect. And then Bali happened. As I should have expected, the ocean water and chlorine did quite a number on my freshly colored locks. And since my hair wasn’t black anymore, it was way more susceptible to heat damage from the sun.
By the time I got back from Bali, my hair had gone from that perfect bronde ombre to blonde. It was washed out, not very shiny, and in need of some serious pampering. I moisturized my hair with coconut oil for two weeks after we got back, and before I knew it, my black hair (roots) had grown. It was time to make a decision—keep dying my hair or go back to jet black?
I looked at myself in the mirror and reflected on how much I’d enjoyed the two months of blonde hair. But when I was being completely honest, I realized the event of dying my hair blonde had been more exhilarating than actually having blonde hair. I was getting annoyed with the fact that I didn’t recognize the hair on my brush or that I couldn’t wear certain colors anymore or that my signature all-black look didn’t look quite right. I never realized just how much black hair meant to me until I didn’t have it anymore.
So I went to the store, grabbed a couple of boxes and dyed my hair. Helpful hint: When you bleach your hair, you remove the color pigments so it goes from black > brown > orange > yellow > white. When you want to go back to dark hair, you have to add those color pigments back into your strands. Since the bottom of my hair was dirty blonde, I used a dark brown dye on top. Because the top of my hair was brown, I was able to go straight to black. While I dyed it, I spoke to my blonde hair, making sure it understood (lol) how much I’d enjoyed it, but that it was proper time for it to go. A fleeting thought came into my brain: would I regret going back to dark? I tested myself by scrolling through blonde hair feeds and balayage hairdressers, and boom. Zero ounces of desire in this heart to have what was on the screen.
All this to say, I have had zero DIY regrets in my life. Some might say it’s because I’m reckless, some because I’m spontaneous; I think it’s just because I give myself an abundance of freedom to scratch the freakin’ itch.
Cheers,
