The Emperor’s New Highlights
The other day, a friend of mine was bemoaning the bad hair coloring she had gotten at the salon — just days before she was going to have a family portrait taken, no less. While it wasn’t a complete disaster, it just wasn’t the warm, strawberry blond color that she had imagined, and every time she passed by a mirror she wanted to kick herself.
And boy do I feel her pain. I know what it’s like to be overcome with that sick pang of regret every time you look in the mirror. But not for the reason that you might think.
I was born with straight, dark hair, and while I confess I’ve had more than a few encounters with bad perms, I never really thought about changing the color. That is, until about a year ago, when my hairstylist (who herself had paid good money to turn her brown hair jet black) started telling me that highlights could really give my hair great texture.
Okay, so when I hear “highlights” I think sun-kissed blond streaks — so my immediate reaction was no way, no how. But over the course of the next few months, I started liking the idea. There was a sameness in the haircut I got every six weeks; why not try something new? Finally, in April, I decided to take the plunge. It was my first time, and I told them to be gentle with my virgin hair. I was so nervous that my stylist promised that she would go very, very subtle. Still, after they took the foils out and led me to the sink to wash my hair, my heart was pounding. I took care not to look at any mirrors — I was too terrified. I worried that they’d gotten the formula wrong and my hair looked like a skunk.
But in fact, two and a half hours later, I walked out of the salon with hair that . . . well, that didn’t look too different from how it was when I walked in. The highlights were so subtle that I had to point them out to people, angle my head to let the sunlight hit in a certain way before anyone agreed that maybe they could see one reddish-brown streak — and then they had to ask, “You paid how much for that?” Even my stylist told me that I could come back to get it done again, on the house, if I didn’t think they were strong enough. But I didn’t. I told myself that I liked easing into the world of color treatments, but in truth whenever I passed a mirror I felt kind of sheepish. In fact, no one noticed the new color for months, even after I’d gone back for stronger highlights. But all that matters is that I know they’re there! I took the plunge. I voted for change. And I can see them — in good light, anyway.
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