I admit I am anal when it comes to itineraries and expectations involving time frames and other elements of a planning nature. But as impromptu goes, as life's little frustrations go, I am pretty content to roll with the punches.
I decided to make a change Saturday.
I got my hair highlighted a week and a half ago. I started going to an Aveda school in Hyde Park about two years ago (aside: The School is said to have the best Spa Pedicure in Cincinnati). The stylists are students on the brink of heading out to real world salons. In the meantime, they practice on fashion mavens looking for a new 'do on the cheap.
Well, the morning of Saint Patrick's Day I went in for my monthly highlight/lowlight combo. I won't bore you with the prescription details but I will say I prefer colors ranging from a deep, coppery red to a platinum blonde on this head 'o mine.
I walked out with highlights the shade of gold. Like, trailer park gold.
Tanya Harding gold.
Brassy, trashy, walking-through-Section-8-housing-with-a-40-and-a-pack-of-Virginia-Slims gold.
That is -not- how I roll.
I would normally suck it up and stick with the effed up highlights, considering I go monthly and have another appointment in a few weeks.
But I decided I wasn't okay with that. I took a long look in the mirror last Sunday and thought about how my full head of hair is one of the first things you notice about me (aside from other characteristics). A full head of hair has long been a symbol of youth, vibrance and beauty. In Renaissance Italy, a beautiful head of blonde hair became the unquestioned symbol of feminine beauty.
These days a good cut and color job is a symbol of personal worth and style.
I got my hairr re-did this Saturday and am quite happy with the results.
Proof positive that it pays to speak up.
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