It began with a simple conversation about a costume. For my sister’s bachelorette party, we were dressing up like different versions of Britney Spears and going out. As I contemplated my outfit, I said aloud ‘it would be better if I was blonde.’ The reply from my then-roommate began the spiral.
“You should die your hair blonde, like Emma Stone. She looks good as a blonde.”
Because I’m Chelsea, the idea took hold of me and wouldn’t let go. We weighed the pros and cons but finally I decided it was a good idea. Much to his dismay, we went to Walmart late that night and purchased a blonde box of hair dye and hoped for the best.
Spoiler alert: If you have very dark hair, a box job will not make you blonde. You will look like this:
Granted, it’s not a bad look. But I wasn’t satisfied. I did another box of blonde and was unsurprisingly still a brunette. A hairdresser friend confirmed my greatest fear: I would need to bleach my hair to achieve the look I wanted. I realized I couldn’t potentially damage my hair like that, so like a genius I decided to add more color.
I became a redhead because I’m an idiot. Thank God I cannot find any photographic evidence from this terrible week in my life. I did it myself and it was so uneven. As soon as I went home, my mom gave me the deserved ‘you’re such an idiot’ look and quickly commanded it be dyed. So we bought another box, dyed it and I still had spotty roots. My mom had a root touch-up lying around so we added that as well. If you weren’t counting, here’s the total amount of box jobs currently in my hair:
(2) Boxes of blonde
(1) Box of carrot-top red
(1) Box of some brown color
(1) Box of root touch up
We’re up to five, right? And I still had all my hair. It was great. But my hair also looked like this:
While you might not be able to tell, it looks like brunette dye was haphazardly applied all over my head which is exactly what happened. It resembled a chunky brown rainbow. Pretty, I know.
Here is the most important detail I excluded: I did this the month before my sister’s wedding. I tend to lose my mind from time-to-time, but I really thought Kristi was going to kill me given the state of my awful hair. At first, I justified it because it was my hair and I liked it and I’m cool blah blah blah. And then I realized this is what my hair would look like, forever immortalized in my sister’s wedding photos and I panicked.
Luckily, my mom felt the same way and paid to have it done properly. Mind you, this happened the day before the wedding. When the time for photos came, I looked much better:
Well, my hair did at least.
Then we all lived happily ever after.
Incorrect. My hair did not. I learned the hard way that using red will forever cause your hair to turn copper. For more than a year, I went through cycles. I would get it dyed or do it myself (depending on da monies) and then within a few months I looked like this:
Yeah. Not my best look.
Eventually, I had to cut it all off to remedy the situation. It was so damaged and weirdly colored and I needed a reason to be brave and try the pixie. Now all is good in the hood of my hair.
The moral of this story: don’t try to make a drastic change to your hair without professional help, and especially don’t do it the month before your sister’s wedding where you’re the maid of honor. Did I mention that part?
Suffice to say, dying my hair blonde seemed like a good idea the time (to me only because let’s be real in what world would that work)