Whilst nowhere near as bad as my mum (who punctured my childhood memories by looking like a different woman every week), I must admit to having a pretty short attention span when it comes to my hair. It all started when I was about 12, bored with my long mousy brown locks and unwisely deciding to go blue instead. The results were not too hot and I therefore resolved to go a tulip pink, which fared slightly better, but ultimately makes me cringe now. The image of a 13-year-old girl with pink hair and a dog collar WILL come back to haunt you...trust me.
I finally found my niche, so it seemed, when my mum suggested I go red. At this point, my hair was past my elbows and I spent most of my time wearing a parka and preaching animal rights. The parka and preachiness went, but the vegetarianism and red hair were still going strong through the latter half of secondary school. It was a bitch to maintain, but I loved my red hair. I decided to make it even more of a challenge by opting for a Mary Quant bob aged 16/17, which looked like this:
(Yes I am holding up the camera and posing on my bathroom floor - shut up, Myspace was big okay?)
I loved it, a lot of people did, but JEEZ it had to look perfect all the damn time. I remembered my days of long hair, where I could leave it looking a hippy-chic mess. Not so with the 60s bob - serum and straighteners became both my best friends and worst enemies. If it grew out the tiniest bit, the world and his wife could tell. Eventually (aged about 18, not long after I met my boyfriend Tom and with his encouragement), I cut all of my hair off - at least that's how it seemed at the time. I had been toying with the idea for months and finally decided to just go for it.
This was the result, more or less: long enough to play with and shorter on the back and sides (also, my boyfriend has gone through his own image change - hard to believe he had longer hair and no sexy stubble at all back then!).
It seemed I had found my style...had I? Nope, of course not. By the summer of 2009, I was sick of having to tend to my red hair. The colour would shine and pop for all of a week and a half, before it started fading. On top of that, after 5 or 6 years, I was simply getting bored. I toyed with the idea of going blonde - dirty, peroxide, Debbie Harry blonde. I'm nothing if not up for a risk, but to the hairdresser at Essensuals it proved too much of a risk, as he flat out refused to do it. My mum, who had plenty of experience with her own hair, said she could probably bleach it herself. It was VERY faded by this point and all it took was a few washes of medicated shampoo (remember that nit shampoo you had has a kid? Yep...) to convince her to try.
The first time I saw it, I screamed. Rather than the platinum blonde bombshell I envisioned, I saw Tweety Pie staring back at me. I was assured this could be put to rights with toner and hair dye and - sure enough - managed to tame my explosion in a yellow paint factory to this:
Much to my surprise (most people I had told of my blonde wishes cringed at the though), everyone aside from my Gran loved it. I feel like I've finally found my true hair colour (no jokes about my ditziness in the back!) and have been using silver shampoos to bring it to its full white blonde potential, even going shorter than short on the sides.
Only now - say it ain't so - I'm getting bored again. I've been toying with the idea of going shorter, like Mia Farrow shorter.
(For those of you that live under rocks)
I may go for a consultation and see what the hair-hacking professionals think. I have a really weird face, which I imagine means I could either go really wrong or right with this. On top of that, I really like the cut I'm sporting now and have always been of the 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it' philosophy when it comes to other people's hair. Maybe I should finally take my own advice? Answers on a postcard, to the usual address folks!