MadameV
July 23rd, 2013, 10:59 PM
My journey has been long, so I hope you'll excuse me if my story is long as well
When I was very young, my mother had knee-length curls that were, in her words, "the color of a fresh penny". My godmother--her college roommate--had dead straight black hair about the same length. I thought they were the most beautiful women in the world and I wanted to be just like them, so at the age of probably three or four decided I'd never have short hair. For fourteen years I never dyed it, permed it, or cut it above my waist.
I lived in South Korea for most of my life, and when you're living in Asia with waist-length blonde hair you get used to being stared at. Really used to it. I got so used to it that when I came back to the States at age eighteen I felt invisible. It wasn't that I craved attention; it was more homesickness than anything. So, blonde became blue, then purple, then black just to make me feel normal again. My brothers went through something similar, though to a lesser degree, and both ended up turning to the stage instead of dye.
Eventually, the black got to me. My hair, both in color and length, had been such a huge part of my identity when I was growing up that having it black made me feel like I was wearing a mask. I still had the length, but I didn't feel like myself without the color. So, one night around three in the morning I cut it all off. Everything. I cut it down to the blonde roots. They were about half an inch long. I'd never even had it shoulder-length before.
But I had the color I wanted. I thought so, anyway.
Until it grew back brown.
At that point I gave up. I kept it short for a couple of years, dyed it red, then green, then green, teal and blue all at once, and then back to brown right before my first child was born. I grew it out to my shoulders for my wedding, and that time it went back to blonde. I cut it back to a chin-length bob on my honeymoon.
Bob for a while. Pixie. Back to red. Dreadlocks in. Dreadlocks out. Postpartum hair-loss that took two giant chunks out of my hairline, pushing the corners of my widow's peak back to almost the middle of my head. Frantic attempts to make it healthy again.
At the end of all that, I looked in the mirror and realized I'd done by accident what I'd never been able to do on purpose--my hair was its familiar streaky dark blonde and nearly armpit length. It was almost my hair again. After all my wandering, I was almost home. I decided home was where I belonged, and that's where I'm headed: waist-length or beyond. It's currently BSL, and it's 1c/f/iii.
As for why I'm here, I guess I just wanted company for the trip. I'm not looking for answers to anything, though I'll never turn down an opportunity to learn something. I just want to be friends.
So...hi!
When I was very young, my mother had knee-length curls that were, in her words, "the color of a fresh penny". My godmother--her college roommate--had dead straight black hair about the same length. I thought they were the most beautiful women in the world and I wanted to be just like them, so at the age of probably three or four decided I'd never have short hair. For fourteen years I never dyed it, permed it, or cut it above my waist.
I lived in South Korea for most of my life, and when you're living in Asia with waist-length blonde hair you get used to being stared at. Really used to it. I got so used to it that when I came back to the States at age eighteen I felt invisible. It wasn't that I craved attention; it was more homesickness than anything. So, blonde became blue, then purple, then black just to make me feel normal again. My brothers went through something similar, though to a lesser degree, and both ended up turning to the stage instead of dye.
Eventually, the black got to me. My hair, both in color and length, had been such a huge part of my identity when I was growing up that having it black made me feel like I was wearing a mask. I still had the length, but I didn't feel like myself without the color. So, one night around three in the morning I cut it all off. Everything. I cut it down to the blonde roots. They were about half an inch long. I'd never even had it shoulder-length before.
But I had the color I wanted. I thought so, anyway.
Until it grew back brown.
At that point I gave up. I kept it short for a couple of years, dyed it red, then green, then green, teal and blue all at once, and then back to brown right before my first child was born. I grew it out to my shoulders for my wedding, and that time it went back to blonde. I cut it back to a chin-length bob on my honeymoon.
Bob for a while. Pixie. Back to red. Dreadlocks in. Dreadlocks out. Postpartum hair-loss that took two giant chunks out of my hairline, pushing the corners of my widow's peak back to almost the middle of my head. Frantic attempts to make it healthy again.
At the end of all that, I looked in the mirror and realized I'd done by accident what I'd never been able to do on purpose--my hair was its familiar streaky dark blonde and nearly armpit length. It was almost my hair again. After all my wandering, I was almost home. I decided home was where I belonged, and that's where I'm headed: waist-length or beyond. It's currently BSL, and it's 1c/f/iii.
As for why I'm here, I guess I just wanted company for the trip. I'm not looking for answers to anything, though I'll never turn down an opportunity to learn something. I just want to be friends.
So...hi!