Accidental Blonde

I'm a 43-year-old brunette.

When I was 21 I had a bad hair cut by a beautician near where I lived in Surfside Beach, South Carolina. I hated the way she'd whacked my hair and applied this funky gel and coifed it into some bizarre style that I don't know how to describe – she did to my hair something that she wanted to do, not what I wanted. It wasn't the first time a stylist had used me as her own personal guinea pig. I vowed to never get my hair professionally cut again. And I didn't – not for 17 years. I cut it myself, with an occasional assist from my mom.

In the early 2000's I got brave again. I had my hair cut at a professional salon in Seattle that was recommended by my friend Carol at work. But I couldn't believe how expensive the whole thing was. Plus, they pressured me to buy product (what's with the gel push anyway??). I walked away having laid out about $110 and swore off getting my hair cut at such an expensive salon again.

Later, in downtown Bellevue, I found a place that still cut hair for under 50 bucks (one of those chain cutteries), and I occasionally went there to get a trim from Tatiana. I was happy with her, she never did anything dramatic.

I didn't really have my hair cut again until I got a wild hair in January 2005 (when I lived in NYC), took the subway to China town, and got all my long hair whacked off by a young man about half my age for all of 19 dollars. I was proud of myself for saving all that money and trying out a "more professional" look for my job on Wall Street. However, my haircut was so short that the people I worked with at Morgan Stanley indicated that they didn't like it ("Wow, it's really short" was the typical reaction.) Even my doorman Bill hated it, and he made that very clear to me when he first laid eyes on me afterward. Thanks to everyone I knew telling me it was too short, I decided I'd let it all grow out again – all of it this time, all one length. That was two years ago.

Fast forward to 2006. I started getting my eyebrows waxed at a wonderful salon that's within a mile of my house – very convenient, great service, and I love the people there. Then, this spring, I finally broke down and decided to get a hair trim and some subtle highlights. When Courtney trimmed my hair at the end of March I thought she did a good job, although with tip the price came to $60. I figure that's today's rates for a good stylist. Plus, it was worth it just to have someone shampoo my head. It's almost better than sex.

On April 4th, the first day of my mini-vacation and the day before my Miami trip, I went into the salon at 2pm to have my hair highlighted and eyebrows waxed. I described exactly what I wanted to Courtney—subtle, blondish highlights. I told her I didn't want it to look striped, and I didn't want red. I showed her photos. It was the first time I'd ever done this, and I didn't want her to go overboard.

As it happened, her color mixing was off. I ended up with a head full of dark red highlights that were barely noticeable but looked like copper stripes to me (up close and under bright bathroom lighting). Not a soul at work noticed I'd had it done. So after I got back from Miami, I spoke with Courtney about fixing it.

Yesterday I went in at 4:45PM for the color correction. I showed Courtney the same exact photos from their style book that I'd shown her on the first attempt. These women clearly had dark brown hair with a few subtle, caramel highlights blended in here and there. Their hair, overall, remained brunette.

Well, I don't know what came over Courtney because, first of all, it was after 9:00PM when she finally finished. (And I had a trip to prep for and a cat to feed.) She spent way too much time on the whole process, and now I know why.

I got a quick view of my hair on a bathroom break. But it was still wet at the time. I told her with a tone of warning, "That's a lot of color. . . ." She told me not to worry. What irked me was that she wouldn't let me see myself in the mirror until she'd finished drying (and straightening) it, which took like another hour. I finally got a sideways glimpse of it when I was reaching for my soda, and I about had a cow. I told her I feared that it was "too blonde." She kept saying, "just let me finish, You're going to love it." I kept telling her nicely that I was worried about how it would turn out, that I didn't want that much blonde.

Meanwhile, the other four women still on duty (owner and my esthetician included) and a customer all thought it looked great. My esthetician (whom I adore), told me I looked "sexy." She mentioned what a big change it is for me. I was like, "I didn't want change. I don't want to look sexy. I don't want to be a blonde." I really didn't. I just wanted something a little different, and I'm not sure how I could have made my wishes any clearer to Courtney.

Finally Courtney was done. She swung the chair around so I was facing the mirror. My mouth dropped open in shock. I was now something I never wanted to be in my life: blonde.

It was 9:30 when I got home, and I looked in my own bathroom mirror. All I could see was blonde. Instead of having a few highlights added to my dark brown hair, I have a few strands of dark brown underneath this honey-caramel-blonde color, which is more like bleach white just around my ears where she didn't apply enough toner. The rest of the highlights are the right color but, like I told Courtney, there's just way too much of it.

I was going to go back today and have it fixed, but there wasn't time since I had to work and have a flight to catch later. I talked to my friend Ed at work after emailing him a few self-taken digital photos of my hair. He suggested that I wait, be brave, and get some more reactions before I change it back. I took his advice and, as much as I dread going in to work with this shocking change of hair color next week, I will see what other people think before changing it back.

Ugh. This is exactly why I didn't go to a hair stylist for 17 years – they tend to "play" with your hair and do things that they think are fun or might be cool. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The stylist is supposed to do what the customer wants. Are there any out there who actually do that? I'm open to comments here.

This is reminiscent of my Lasik surgery. . . .