They go to the hair dressers…
Lesson learnt: Never ever change yourself for someone else and never go to the hair dressers when your broken hearted!
I had been dumped and I was going through the motions. Get dumped, go on a diet, change your look, go shopping, post pictures looking like your happy (although Alexa Chung had recommended in her book not to, it was too late. I had already done it. False smiles in full swing)
Hair was next on the list.
So there I was, 2 weeks after with totally BLACK hair….
ONE WEEK EARLIER.
When friend and my mum had told me not to I had replied with “Highlights. I just want highlights.. my hairs just gone dull, plus if I get it done now it be perfect for Thailand”
I was ringing around hair dressers desperately trying to get quotes I could afford on her “ young professional” salary.
Finally I decided to go with a salon from my home town. The fact that it was the salon that allowed me to get a perm when I was 14 which left me looking like Tracy Beaker meets an electric shock, should have been enough to put me off, but surely they could have only got better with time right?
A few weeks before I had been dumped he had booked for us to stay in what could only be described as a castle. It was a surprise and it was perfect. We would explore the lakes together, go for romantic walks, spend quality time together, before my two week trip to Thailand. Mushy. I had it all planned out we were going to be that PDA couple that everyone cringes at and I didn’t even care. I had hearts in her eyes and a sickening skip in my step.
In my head I thought it was adorable that he was doing all this as a kind of lure for me not to stray while I was away. I knew I had fallen deep enough by now to not even be bothered by the rest of the male population, but if he wanted to spend £400 on two nights in a castle who was I to argue?
It was going to be just lovely.
However the bubble was soon popped when two weeks before I was supposed to be swept away on this little adventure he had decided to let me know that actually, he didn’t want a relationship and it wasn’t me, it was him.(great classic line right there!) So what the bloody hell had booking this romantic weekend been about?!
He still wanted to do the weekend away with me, to which my friends let me know, wasn’t an option.
“How would you feel spending a whole weekend with him knowing everything he was doing- was fake? Wondering if he even wanted to be there? It will just make your feelings grow spending more time with him and then upset you knowing that was it. He wants his cake and to eat it. Don’t let him”
I knew they were right. With all my might I told him I wasn’t prepared to spend an awkward weekend with him, as it was my friends birthday anyway and that now takes priority. Hoes over Bros, fist punching kind of feminism.
What did I do?
To stop my heart hurting, spending the weekend imagining what I would be doing if I had gone, I decided to spend the weekend getting hot!
Transforming myself in to a total goddess, a pure beauty queen worthy of a Victoria Secrets fashion show. Hair done, nails done, facial, good food, pictures from my friends birthday. He would be begging for me back in no time.
Sitting in the hairdressers chair at 9:30, I was confident and excited to finally be getting my hair done, Thinking that I had probably let myself go in the last couple of months anyway. I needed this.
“What are we doing for you today”
“ I would like high lights please, natural looking ones, I don’t want to walk out blonde, I just need a bit of a lift as my hair is looking quite dull”
“ OK great! Let me go and grab the colour chart for you”
Half an hour later, head in foils, reading a magazine. I didn’t need a castle anyway.
Another half an hour later and I was sat in the car, looking in the rear view mirror at my hair. Confused as to where the word natural had gone to?
My hair now resembled that of streaky bacon from an orange coloured pig. I was also pretty sure there was a blob of colour near the back of my head, where it looked like dye may have fallen on to my hair and not been wiped off before it had done any damage.
Thinking maybe it was just the light or the way they had dried it I returned home for my mums, ever truthful opinion.
Walking in to the words.. “ oh my god, what have they done! You need to go back” I had got back in the car and gone back to the salon.
The next 8 HOURS are what can only be described as the worst 8 hours of my life. I sat and watched as my hair was died three times over. Drastically getting worse each time. Biting my tongue, blinking my watery eyes, just praying the next time they take the foils out it would be magically fixed. Three people in the salon tried, and failed to fix the problem.
I was now sporting a nice two tone do. Semi normal colour on the bottom half of her head and practically see through white/ orange on the top of her head.
Confidence is sexy. This was not confidence. This was not sexy.
At 6 oclock when the salon shut I had left, feeling deflated, sad, lonely and horrendous. I headed straight to boots she brought a couple of home dye kits, “ash brown” and prayed that my hair wouldn’t break off after a couple more dyes.
I was mumbling to my self that I had liked her brown hair anyway. I didn’t even want blonde hair.
So after a couple of home dyes back to brown my hair had turned blacker then my mood. I was the opposite of goddess. It honestly left like things couldn’t get worse. I cried for so long, the heart break and the hair was all too much. This was three years ago and I would say that the colour is just about on the ends of my hair, and I can tell you now that I will never be dying my hair again. I ended up going to Jamie Stevens Hair salon in London (where I lived at the time) and they did the most amazing fix job on my hair and restored it to a normal looking colour. I could not recommend them enough. However they are pricey but this whole experience just showed you get what you pay for.