LadyGypsy.net – the blog of Kimberly Dowd of New Jersey

The most common question people ask me about my brother’s wedding is how I’m going to wear my hair. Sorry, John. They don’t care about your honeymoon or whether I’ve picked the chicken or fish. (Chicken, ftw.) They want to know about the hair.

I guess I can’t blame them, as my hair has taken on a life of its own. It’s darn long now and a very odd reddish-brown shade that resulted from me dying it a horrifically dark color a little bit ago and letting it grow out and fade. People love the color. I like the color. Too bad I can’t ever recreate it. The ill-thought-out bangs have grown out and can be pinned over or back. I’ve been experimenting with pins and hairbands and even Bumpits (warning: obnoxious self-starting video on that site).

It looks better because I’ve been paying better attention to it, including lovingly combing conditioner through it a few times a week with a wide-toothed comb and using Fekkai Glossing Cream on it to give it a bit of shine.

For the wedding I’m going to wear it back in a low bun. Like in this gorgeous illustration:

I'm an artist!!!!

To add a bit of flair, I purchased a hair clip off of Etsy to put back there too.

Key Lime Craze Feather and Flower Fascinator Clip

The only thing I’m on the fence about is whether or not to have large rollers put in pre-bun to give some volume around my face or to just pull the hair back regularly. Maybe I’ll just let the stylist decide.

Now all I have to do in the next few days is resist the urge to do something stupid. Like dye it light blonde. Or get a bob cut.

(twitch)

A fond memory of my youth is watching my Mom dye her hair. I’d sit in the hallway and watch her in the bathroom preparing the mixture as if it were a very solemn ceremony. She’d let me peel the plastic gloves off of the instruction sheet.

I’d sit in the hallway because hair dye REALLY stunk.

So she’d dye her hair, wrap it in a beat up old towel (either the ripped gold one or the bleached out pink one) for the required time, and I’d be sure to be present for the after-rinse unveiling. Sometimes she’d be pleased with the result. Sometimes she’d let out a small whimper.

But six weeks later, we’d be there again.

I’m no stranger to dying my hair, as the hostess photos can attest to. My God…the highlights. (small whimper) Lately, I’m trying to get it all one color, preferably the one I THINK I’d have if I had never started dying my hair in the first place. Quite a Sisyphean task. But more often than not, I consider going darker again…that golden brown I had last January.

I bought the above towel about six years ago, specifically for the hair dye process. The bleached out words say “Good Hair Day” which is cracks me up every time. As I was folding laundry tonight I noticed that the various stains on the towel tell a neat story of the colors I’ve tried and the colors that aren’t there because I was too chicken to follow through with the idea (black, black, and black.)

And maybe it’s because Mother’s Day just passed, leaving me (as it does every year) with the acute realization of what’s missing in this abundant life I live. But in the back of my brain…I’d like to think that someday I’ll have a daughter who’ll laugh with me at this beat up towel as I share my own tales of hair dye derring-do.