I am slowly, day by day, discovering my real hair colour. And at this stage in the I-wouldn’t-trust-a-Bangladeshi-hairdresser-with-a-set-of-foils saga, I am what can be best described as a dirty blonde. Or maybe dark dishwater blonde. Or dull and lifeless dark blonde.
I’ve passed the phase now where I feel that my hair constantly looks dirty, because the roots are darker than the rest of my hair. In the real world I would have run screaming to my hairdresser about 2 months ago. Last highlights were in Bali. A real disappointment. Why are good hairdressers so hard to find? I did my online research and everything, but that money would have been far better spent paying off my ridiculous Ku De Ta bills.
It’s kind of interesting, in a ‘I don’t have much other choice’ kind of way, to discover my natural hair colour after so many years. I think I started highlighting my hair when I was about 22. So current age minus first-highlight-age = the length of my entire school education. Something to think about.
Good news though, I haven’t discovered any grey hairs. And my natural hair colour isn’t all that revoltingly hideous. Well, first stop back in London will definitely be my hairdresser, but you know, I can actually live with it for the next 4 and a bit months.
NOTE: Anyone who does not highlight their hair will not ‘get’ this post, and will be astounded by the pettiness and vanity that occupies my mind here. Another ‘blondes’ should, however, understand.