I spent four and a half hours alternating from the wash basin to a corner seat with aluminum foil layered through my hair. A thing that was peculiarly heavy on my small head, with a smell that made my mouth feel all metal and goosebumps raise on my skin. The burning sensation was minimal. I hadn’t washed my hair for four days beforehand and I think that helped. I hope it helped… I spent two days too long with greasy hair.
The hardest part is knowing when to stop. When your hair turns to candy floss and your scalp is all red and still the you in the mirror is too dark, too yellow. The allure of white. Four and a half hours nearly got me, but not quite there. I’m jonesing for a next session. Bleach me.
Four and a half hours is all it takes to turn you into a high maintenance woman. Already I’ve doubled my morning routine – more hair product, more blow dry, more… navel gazing. Where before I could fly under the radar, today I have a golden hair-hat crowning my head. It commands attention (I think) and I kind of like that (I think). It’s all virgin territory.
Which is not to say that I haven’t figured some things out along the way. I’m forever grateful for my Wen cleansing conditioner, for bronzer (Chanel) and purple mascara (Yves Saint Laurent). Somehow black, which overpowers my closet, seems too severe now, and blue, is everything.