I have never been one of those girls who's attached to her hair (sentimentally, obviously, it's pretty attached to my scalp). When I was just a little grasshopper on a road trip to Chicago with my mother, I made myself a necklace out of Silly Putty. As you might imagine, Putty and hair don't exactly play well together and my mother was stuck with the task of trying to extract my hair out of the Putty while pulled over on the side of the highway. When that failed, she tried to cut it out with kid's play scissors.
Hair is hair.
"It'll grow back," is my mantra (though it hasn't always led me down the right path). Because of this, there were times where I just didn't give a flying h*ck what my hair looked like. In middle school, I had spiral curls, a direct result of my father's bastardized European genes. In high school, I opted to chop it all off in favor of a pixie cut (something that still gives me nightmares). I wound up looking like a boy.
Fast-forward to present day.
Working at a super rad nonprofit has given me the freedom to really play with my hair. The only style guidelines inflicted on my coworkers is a stringent "no shorts, no flip-flops" rule and even that is a little bendy. As a result, I've found myself finally finding my natural style (more fashion horror stories later)--and surprise, it's basically an all-black closet.
There's something sexy and freeing about having a closet that is pretty stringently all-black. It certainly makes getting ready for work easy. Still, I crave a semblance of creativity.
So, naturally, I turned to my hair.
In recent months, I've kept it relatively natural. Dark brown or soft black, kept in a neat A-line bob.
Since the start of this job, though, I've begun to stray from that path.
It started with an undercut. Given how hot and sticky this summer has been (#ThanksClimateChange), I was already tempted to adopt the style of shaving the underside of one's head. All it took was sitting down in a stylist's chair at the local Great Clips for me to realize I was making a great choice.
From there, I got more adventurous, all leading up to yesterday, when I walked into Lyndale Ave's Fox Den Salon for a six-hour long appointment.
"I want to do something different," I told my stylist, Kayli, and oh boy did she deliver! Because of my rocky history with DIY-ing, she made it clear that we'd have to take it slow (as with any relationship).
I knew I wanted to go vivid and bold (not bald), and with her help, we transformed my box-brown hair into something otherworldly (and wholly awesome!).
After a quick spin in the styling chair, I was blonde. Mostly orange, but definitely blonde. It was so weird. I have never in my life seen myself with light colored hair. I looked like a preppy badass, and even though that wasn't my end goal, it was pretty cool to see.
Walking out of the salon with completely different hair was super cool. To a certain extent, it was ridiculously empowering. After, I could hardly recognize myself in the mirror! And now, a full day later, I'm still getting used to it. I am so thankful to have had such an awesome stylist (and y'all, this post definitely isn't sponsored).
The point of this post? To encourage you to take that risk you've always thought about it. Especially if it's hair--it'll grow back and the adventure is totally worth it!