Nov. 26th, 2008

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I succeeded in working my way down to washing my hair only once a week, as per Matthew's instructions. This meant I was ready for phase two of his long-term plans with my hair. He wants to colour my hair crazy colours. The first step in that process was bleaching my hair, stripping it of its natural pigments so that the dye would show up.

Because Matthew is so conscious of hair and scalp health (hence making me reduce my wash frequency before the colouring could even begin), he decided it was necessary to wait a week between bleaching and dyeing, so that my scalp could recover.

So for seven days, I am somewhat blonde. Ish.

First, I want to talk about the bleaching process. I've never bleached my hair before. I hadn't washed my hair for a week when we put in the bleach; Matthew fondled my head and seemed pleased with the condition of my hair. I am personally proud that I can now go a week without washing my hair and let my hair be fondled. In fact, it feels nice and not disgusting. It's truly amazing.

Since there was so much delicious scalpy buildup (the healthy kind) on my head and hair, I hardly felt a tingle when the bleach went in. Matthew assured me that a regular girl (without my superstrength hair sebum distribution prowess) would be in agony right now. I was expecting quite a bit of pain, and was surprised when there was nothing.

Since we did it in his house instead of the salon, we didn't have access to those fancy heater head-enclosure thingies, which I think reduced the efficacy of the bleach. The hair closest to the warmth of my head is a gorgeous Marilyn Monroe white blonde, but two inches down, it is quite orange. I was shocked when I saw it, and a little horrified. My dad still can't really look at me, but he's an excessively judgmental bastard really.

I got over the orange thing after Googling some pictures of Milla Jovovich in The Fifth Element.

Anyway, this is my funkadelic hair for the next seven days. I'm still a little insecure, but not overly so, since I am capable of being simultaneously vain and able to see the utter irrelevance of it all. Making a modelly face, hee hee:

 
 
And doing my best blonde impression:
 

He left a bit of my natural colour on the left and in the back, because I think he's going to go for some kind of chiaroscuro effect, or otherwise make me look like Two-Face, I don't know.

I blow-dried it myself and I was forbidden to use my flatiron on the freshly bleached hair, so it will not only be orange for the next week, but it will also be a godawful mess. Truly, a formidable first impression I shall make.

I would also like to make some preliminary observations about how interactions with people have changed since I modified the variable of hair colour:

1) Men talk to me more. A LOT MORE. Customers who would previously just come in and browse and go on their merry way, suddenly they have all kinds of questions and small talk for me. I think being somewhat blonde is compromising the potency of my Withering Glance, aka the Don't Talk To Me stare. My early hypothesis is that it's harder to fall back onto the Antisocial Bookworm archetype when you're not a brunette anymore.

2) Women think I'm a dyke. I bought some tinsel and glitter for the store's Non-Denominational Festival of Lights Gift Ideas Display, and I chose a purple colour palette, because I don't think purple is associated with any seasonal holiday. The checkout lady was like, "Purple! Is that your favourite colour?" I said, "No, I just tried to pick the most non-denominational colour you had." She then said, "Non-denominational, or non.... gender... thingie...?"
"Uh, no, just... non-denominational. ..."

More on this as it progresses.
 
 

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