I’ve seen both sides of the spectrum. Blonde is lovely, it really is. Blonde suits me, apparently. Blonde is wonderful. I don’t think I’m alone in this: being blonde made me feel more confident. I stood out from my brown-haired friends. I felt unique.
(And, yes, obviously I messed around with the brightness on that photo. My lips looked sore. And my skin was awfully red. Unfortunately, I am not that luminous in real life.)
Let’s make no bones about it, blonde wreaks havoc on your hair. You’re essentially covering it in bleach and that’s just not healthy. And I must be the driest person in the world because I know lots of other people don’t suffer half as much as I do with their platinum locks. But my skin is usually dry and I swear, no matter what I did to my blonde mane, it too was as dry as the Sahara and as cottony as … cotton fields. The amount of conditioner I went through! And having recently got a whole heap of my hair chopped off, you can imagine my dismay at finding broken and split ends already!
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I am now a brunette. Again. My hair hasn’t been this colour in two and a half years. This is exciting. A nice change. A very nice change actually. Not saying that my hair is nice – just that sporting a different look is nice. Here’s hoping I’ve seen the last of perpetual split ends and dried out hair. Tricia, I love you.
(And that’s quite obviously over-exposed too since I was wearing no make-up and looked like a tomato with hair. I like Pale Emma better. I shall post a better picture when I’m , like, done up or whatever.)