Reliving the horror – The Night I Dyed

A year ago, I dyed my hair. In my bathroom. With a $17 box of DIY crap from the supermarket. I looked like this (above).

I wasn’t entirely happy with it. Husband said I looked like Brunhilda. He didn’t mean it as a compliment.

So I started paying $140 to have my hair dyed by a Darlinghurst colourist. That’s not a typing error, Husband.

My hair now looks like this (above). Much better. Whether it’s $120 better is up for debate.

(All those years of working on diet & beauty makeover stories in women’s mags taught me something – “before” photos must be make-up free and brooding, “after” photos are sunny and pancaked. It heightens the makeover “wow” factor … even when using a Blackberry phone camera, without special lighting and doing my own foundation. Oh, and a special mention must go to the staff at kidspot.com.au, who introduced me to PicMonkey – purely for recipe enhancement purposes – where I discovered the wrinkle-removing tool. It’s heaven.)

But I now have to get my roots done every six weeks. At $140 a pop. Ouchy wah-wah. I’m sure there are cheaper places to get my hair dyed, but I’m deeply attached to my hairdresser – we’ve been together 15 years – and I’m growing steadily fonder of my colourist (at inner-Sydney salons you have both, it’s the trendy thing).

So I’m kinda stuck. It’s what Mamamia would describe as a First World Problem. It’s also the reason I’m going back to work – to pay for my root maintenance. Joke.

Anyway, here’s last year’s dyeing blog, just to pad things out (because I have  spot of writer’s block) …

“Last night I dyed my hair. For the first time. At age 43. My grey, frazzled bits could no longer be ignored. I skipped the “essential” 48-hours-prior allergy test. Reckless, but I hate waiting. I bought my $17 box of dye at Woolies yesterday afternoon (last of the big spenders when it comes to personal grooming), and I wanted to use it IMMEDIATELY. But I couldn’t, because I needed to take Sprog 1 to the library for her regular 20-book top-up. Then I had to chase the chickens around and around and around the backyard so I could lock them up out of the rain. Then I had to make dinner. Then I had to eat dinner. Then I had to watch the Doctor Who finale. Then I had to put the Sprogs to bed. Then, finally, it was dye time. I was a bit nervous about stuffing it up. That “permanent” word on the box is scary. I was also nervous about having included Sprog 2 in the colour choice process (Sprog 2 loves a supermarket trawl). Was “dark auburn” really the shade for me? I’d been rather partial to the “light auburn”, but Sprog 2 was quite insistent. Sprog 2 was wrong. Never trust a five-year-old with your hair dye choices. Husband went all wide-eyed and called me Brunhilda (whatever that means) when he saw me and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. The 30-minute processing time was pretty fruitful, though. I’d forgotten to take a book into the bathroom, so I passed the time by conducting an archeolgical dig in my makeup case. Fascinating. I found an unpresented cheque from 2009, a large bottle of serum stuff that I don’t remember purchasing let alone using (despite it being half empty) and the launching device for the glider Sprog 2 got for Christmas (so that’s where it got to!). I sorted all the lipsticks into one compartment, all the mascaras and assorted pointy things into another. All the old bits of floss and tampon wrappers went in the bin. Very cathartic. With 20 minutes still remaining, I got really bored and decided to read the fine print on the hair dye instruction sheet. Most distressing. It had all these warnings about avoiding the product if you’ve used henna on your hair. Cue shallow, distressed breathing – I’ve been using henna shampoo to cover my grey for years. Bloody instructions didn’t offer any clue as to what might happen after applying the product when you’ve used henna. Will your hair fall out? Will it turn green. Will you start fitting on the bathroom floor? Thankfully none of those things happened. Well, they haven’t yet. Try not to blanche next time you see me. Just smile and tell me how great I look. OK?”

How much do you pay to get your hair done? Too ashamed to share?