So I was at the hairdressers yesterday. Hours and hours stretched ahead with nothing more taxing to do than turn the pages of a glossy magazine and drink copious amounts of coffee while occasionally talking about the weather. Complete and utter bliss.
I have had the same colourist and stylist for longer than I care to remember. In fact, so long that I wouldn’t dare to even begin to work it out for fear of starting to feel very old. They were my hairdressers at Vidal Sassoon then when they both left to set up their own salon, I went with them because I couldn’t contemplate letting anybody else get their hands on my hair. They know me and my hair better than I do.
So there I was, all robed up and nowhere to go for an hour or three when I was hit with the bombshell. It seems that all these years of highlighting my hair not to mention the daily blow-drying and straightening has finally caught up with me and my once luscious locks. My stylist pulled a sympathetic face and told me that my hair is really very fragile and I maybe it’s time for me to choose whether I want to be blonde or long. The thought of not being either, well, just doesn’t bear thinking about *wibble*
It’s so silly but my hair is my thing, you know? I have the odd should-I-chop-it-all-off moment of madness but I always come to my senses before I actually hit the salon. I couldn’t imagine not having long hair but the fact is that it’s getting gradually shorter and shorter. Basically it hates the bleach and isn’t growing as it should be and the hair that I have got is breaking. She has promised me that I’m not about to go bald but it is time to lay off the full on bleach blonde highlights. I always have a mix of colours anyway so it is just a case of going for more honey and caramel tones but still.
So today sees me slightly less blonde and thanks to Twitter, a shopping list as long as my arm for eye wateringly expensive Aveda goodies to lavish my poor locks with lots of TLC in the hope that it doesn’t all fall out any time soon *weep*