Gone Blonde… ish.

Do blondes really have more fun? Because if they do, life is about to get interesting.

Okay, so I’m not blonde. But I am a heck of a lot lighter than I was 24 hours ago. What I have now is probably as blonde as my hair will get without high-powered chemicals.

I’m kind of spoiled in the fact that my mother is a hairdresser. I grew up with a salon inside of our home… quite literally. My sisters and I got ready for school in the shop with a full sized mirror, hydraulic chair, hairdryer, shampoo bowl, and every product you could ever want. If I wanted a hair cut, I asked my mom. If I wanted a new color, we went to the beauty supply. I am 26 years old, and my mommy is the only person who has ever done my hair (save for that one rebellious moment in high school that resulted in the worst haircut of my life).

The only problem that comes with being the daughter of a cosmetologist is that at some point in your life you are going to be a guinea pig. At least once, it’s going to be a disaster. My personal story? We once tried waxing strips when I was in junior high… and they removed a perfect little rectangle of skin under both my eyebrows. Needless to say, I didn’t have to go to school for a few days.

I’ve been extremely gun shy about my eyebrows ever since.

Since my parents tore down the old house, and the shop actually doesn’t exist anymore, I haven’t made any moves to find a new hairdresser. I’ve researched, of course, but wearing my hair in a top knot seems a hell of a lot easier than paying approximately $200 to get my hair did.

This weekend my mother took pity on my sister, Grace, and I, and we played beauty shop in her bathroom. Bring on the blonde!

Three rounds of color (at 45 minutes a hit) and an inch off the ends later, and I would say I’m officially ready for summer.

Before & After: Keep in mind one of these photos was taken by a professional while I was wearing makeup, and the other was taken by my iPhone without so much as eyeliner.

It’s different, and that’s exactly what I wanted. When I get bored with my hair, I tend to chop it off at about chin length. Even though my mother warns me I’ll hate it every time… I still do it. And I hate it every time.