Between last Sunday and the Monday that followed my hair had been washed a total of four times. Now what on earth could have transpired to lead someone to wash their hair three times too many especially when some of us are barely getting around to a single wash within a two-week span?
My answer to that question is hope. I was hoping to spruce up my locks a little and perhaps have them be a testimony of sorts that, as much as 2021 took from me, my exuberance for life (expressed via my hair) was still very much intact.
Well, if the four washes in under 48 hours didn’t give it away let me blatantly spell it out - the trip to the hairdressers was an unimaginable catastrophic disaster. While I’ve been known to have a tendency of being on the dramatic side, let me assure you that in this case my unreserved hysteria was very much deserved. After almost half a day of sitting in a salon chair, I walked out with hair so orange that it had a closer resemblance to a mane of an orangutan than that of a homosapien.
The taxonomy of my hair aside, I was absolutely gutted to get home only to realise that it wasn’t just the harsh salon lighting that made me suspect that my hair wasn’t the caramel and chocolatey shades I’d asked for. It unfortunately was in fact an awful mess of over-bleached and under-toned hair that was greatly reminiscent of the 2000’s era of chunky hair streaks when I’d clearly asked for a subtle balyage.
After enduring a sleepless night, I resolved to have this fixed some way or the other. Either the nightmare scenario could be remedied to give me what I initially wanted or a full revert to my now sorely missed black hair.
From 5am the next day I poured over pictures and articles to figure out some way to salvage the situation. By the time it got to 9am I still wasn’t sure what the best way out would be but I nonetheless bundled up my hair into a messy bun in preparation for a slew of online meetings - having a meltdown on a Monday morning with work colleagues wasn’t something I was in favour of doing especially since my role requires a level of authority and enforcing newly established rules as a result of a recent restructure.
The proverb “out of sight, out of mind” worked marvellously right up until the time it didn’t which was approximately midday when I took my lunch break. Without much of a plan in mind, I called my usual hairstylist and desperately told her that I needed a colour correction. She was able to miraculously fit me in for an afternoon appointment and by 6pm that evening I was back home with hair that didn’t make me want to take to the foetal position.
Even though I’m now stuck with waist-length hair that feels miserably course and damaged, I thought it would be good to share some lessons that I learnt from this dismal ordeal.
Trust your intuition
When I did my hair consult I was leaning more towards only colouring the front bits of my hair. Oh how I regret not listening to my intuition at the time! I was not about to make the same mistake twice. Something told me that going back to the first hairstylist to fix her mess was not a road I should walk down and so I’m glad that I decided to rather go to a different person the second time around.
You don’t always have to be the one with the solution
Let me clearly clarify what I mean by this. I’m not saying that you don’t need to be the one to fix the problem because if it’s your problem then you need to take accountability to fix it. How you go about fixing it though is a different thing.
Finding an ally to help may sometimes be a better route. You see while I may have degrees and certifications across a number of fields, hair is not one of them. So try as I may I couldn’t figure out the best solution to my brassy orange hair conundrum - but an SME (subject matter expert) just might. The second hairstylist expertly opted for a brown tint that allowed the retro streaks to blend in with my natural hair colour. This wasn’t even an option for me but with her knowledge and experience, she was able to adeptly put me out of my misery without so much as breaking a sweat.
Look for the silver lining
Sometimes this silver lining happens to be more of a brunette tinge. My current hair colour isn’t what I originally wanted when I first thought to head to the hairdressers and it’s definitely not what I would have willingly spent 80 avocados on but over the past few days, it’s grown to be something I like. Another silver lining is that my hair is not thankfully worse off due to the remedial action I signed up for.
A third silver lining is one that I accidentally created. Not wanting to inflict any further damage upon my sorry hair after the fourth wash I decided to hold back on the heat by only half drying my hair and braiding it that night. The next morning I unbraided my hair to find cascading curls that lasted several days which was an astonishing surprise seeing as my naturally straight hair stubbornly refuses to hold a curl for an hour or two even after a copious amount of hairspray. I’m still trying to figure out how this came to be but I suspect severe hair dehydration has something to do with it.
Bad hair experiences are inevitable and as much you prepare with pictures, clear instructions and a watchful eye there are no guarantees that you will be safeguarded against a hairpin bend headed straight towards Orangeville. The best that you can do after an unexpected and unfortunate event is slowly pick up the pieces which in my case, currently entails talking through continent-wide project timelines while obsessively lathering my hair with argan oil during my off-camera meetings.
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