I went through a phase in high school where I was obsessed with coloring my hair. One day I wanted to be a brunette, the next a blonde, the next something wild. You know, my mind changed just as much as any 17-year-old girl flaunting a God Like complex but with deep rooted insecurities.
Anyway, this particular time I had decided I was over my blonde hair and ready to be a brunette again. My original hair dresser wasn’t available on the exact day I wanted it done and 17-year-old me COULD NOT WAIT another day to be brunette. I called a few of the more well-known salon’s and no one could take me that day. Until alas, there was an opening.
I was working at a bagel shop at the time and there was a small salon next door. To be honest, it looked small, dingy and the employees spent more time out back smoking cigarettes but remember, I WAS DESPERATE.
The process begins and the lady is older, but nice and conversation is easy. I even brought my best friend who worked at the bagel shop with me for support. She puts the color in and walks away, time to wait it out. Time passes, then more time, and more time until my friend asks, “how much longer you think?” It’s at that point I realized I’ve been sitting here way too long.
It wasn’t a big salon but I realized the woman doing my hair is nowhere to be found. My friend goes up to the front desk to inquire about where she could be to which the receptionist responds, “What? She left like 30 minutes ago.” WHAT?! WHAT… WHAT?!
Another woman rushes over and immediately starts washing out my hair. She dries and styles it rather quickly and spins me around so I’m now facing my friend. I ask with baited breath, “how does it look?”
My friend responds, “Green. It looks green.” I spun myself around to the mirror and she was right, it was green.
Needless to say I have yet to return to that salon and had to wait a few days with this green hair before I could have it corrected. This happened 10 years ago, by the way, but the scars will never heal.
I have a really thin hair. There are pros and cons to this of course, but I think most girls dream of having that long, luscious hair they can flip around. Well, I did at least. I didn’t exactly have the money at the time to afford the nice extensions and I didn’t feel savvy enough to do it myself. Luckily for me, I had a friend that knew all about it, where to get them, how to put them in, and bonus: she was willing to do it for me.
The process began, she carefully separated my hair into layers gluing the extensions to my scalp. The process was smooth and relatively painless, and beauty is pain anyway so YOLO. It didn’t take too long and I was really happy with the results. Until I was over them…
When I decided I was done with extension life, I called my friend to see if she could help me remove them. Again, she came to my rescue. She drove over later that day and was bringing “special shampoo” to easily remove the extensions.
When she arrived, I jumped in my bathtub, so she could wash out my hair. She applied this “special shampoo” and gently massaged it into my scalp. Well that was when gentle became aggressive. Apparently, the shampoo wasn’t working the way she wanted too, or it wasn’t working as fast at least. What start as light massaging became vigorous ripping. I was in a lot of pain but I figured, can’t complain she’s doing me a favor. She continues to rip until all the extensions were out. When I looked at the finished product I screamed, yes all the extensions out but so was like half of my REAL HAIR. And if this isn’t alarming to you, scroll to the top and read that I have REALLY THIN HAIR to begin with.
Long story short, I lost about ¼ of my real hair that day. I cried. I threw out the extensions. And my friend, well we don’t talk much anymore.