I thought I was Marilyn Monroe
I was Marilyn Monroe. I wanted the curls, the bleached blonde hair, the wind machine to follow me around. I was probably more the discount version though. With my box of Loreal on sale from Boots, I bleached and bleached my hair until I was whiter than the sun, it was glorious. I was this colour for so long, I couldn’t remember what colour my real hair was any more! Due to my naturally curly (frizzy) hair, lovingly genetically donated to me by my mother, I managed to hide the fact that my hair would break off in clumps from so much bleach. Every time I would wash my hair, great big nests would fill the plughole and I told myself it didn’t matter, there was plenty more hair on my head where that came from, and each broken piece of hair just blended back into the rest of my curls.
Then out of a moment of weakness, my celebrity crush switched allegiance, now I wanted to be Megan Fox. Dark, sultry, and just a little weird. That was me! A standard trip to boots and my purchase was made, my good friend Loreal promised me thick, shiny dark brown hair that you could see your face in!
Three cigarettes and two cups of tea later, I am ready to wash it off and the transformation would be complete, the excitement of my new found glamorous dark hair was palpitating. I was ready.
What greeted me was anything but glamourous…..
It was orange. Not orange in a cute red-head sort of way, Orange. Like Cilla Black on steroids orange. Not only was it orange, every last curl I had on my head now hung in a limp, dank, “I’ve lost the will to live” kind of way.
I think I cried for about an hour. A few glasses of wine later, I resolved to tell myself I needed a hairdresser. Not just any hairdresser, I needed a superhero. Someone who could save me in a way I have never needed saving before.
I booked myself an appointment at Kink for the following morning and convinced myself that this superhero was going to make me Marilyn again
I walked in, baseball cap pulled down and low and declared myself having arrived to see the colourist. I was shown to my seat and my superhero arrived, smiling happily and enquiring as to how she could help me today.
I slowly removed the baseball cap to reveal my orange frizz that was now slightly matted having been slept on. A far cry from my Megan Fox plans. I couldn’t decide if the look on my superhero’s face was one of complete pity or complete excitement at the prospect of this challenge but either way she set to work.
I don’t know how long I was there, I don’t think I even looked in the mirror. But after some time, I was rinsed off and the rescue was complete. I wasn’t Marilyn Monroe anymore, but I wasn’t Cilla Black’s crack addict sister either, I was a classy brunette with highlights! I couldn’t believe the transformation, it was a miracle, I had been saved!
I’ve learnt that the Loreal box is no longer my friend and that the reason it takes so much time to train as a colourist is because there really is an art to it! I think I will leave it to Kink from now on!
At Kink, they specialise in colour and strive to be your colour super-heros. Whether you know exactly the look you are going for or whether you need some help to be pointed in the right direction, lets leave the colouring to the professionals