Today has been an absolutely unfruitful yet quietly productive day: I finally got my absolutely monstrously dyed hair coloured by a professional and the first half of my American Apparel order finally turned up. Oh and I didn’t write a single word towards my imminent Creative Writing deadline, but that’s tomorrow’s fun and games. Now, if anyone knows me in reality and has had the misfortune of seeing my hair, or the balls to just say ‘Ebony, what the hell did you do?’ of late, you’ll know that my hair has recently been an amalgamation of brown/ginger/black. Yeah… hot stuff. Here’s a little before image and a sorry explanation of ‘what the hell I did’:
Catastrophic explosion head. My 6 year old little sister probably would’ve done a better job. Basically, I went from plain’n’simple dark brown hair, got bored and decided to use a box dip-dye. Now, there was nothing wrong with the box dye, I’m just mildly dipshit stupid and put the conditioner into the dye mix instead of the actual colourant – rookie error. So that left me with the faintest lightened effect about half way down my considerable lengths. Great start. Then I got narked off with the whole lot and decided to use a box of ColourB4 to see if I could get my hair super light: I couldn’t. It did, however, go a funky (not in a ‘funky’ diva kind of way, more ‘funky’ spunk) dark ginger, so I popped a box of Live Colour in Copper on top of it and ended up with the above. Crackin’ stuff. It’s been like that for a good two months whilst I’ve been waiting for my loan to come through, so I could afford the hefty £60 price tag to get a professional to sort it the hell out.
Which happened today, hurray! I went to Jo & Cass in Lancaster, sat down in the chair to the standard “What’re we doing today, then?” – gestured at my head and let out a “Just help me”. To which the hairdresser guy was like “So urm, are you going to tell me what’s gone on here?” with a bemused expression, just what you want with a raging hangover and a dire longing for bed/McDonalds. I asked him for a Zooey Deschanel fringe – everrrrrytime – and nearly spat my tea when he didn’t have a clue who she was. A gay hairdresser doesn’t know who Zooey D is? My word, wowzers. I was a little miffed with the whole experience really, not because the hairdresser wasn’t lovely – he was – just that I weirdly prefer having my hair done by a woman. Some really wonky sexism going on there, apologies. Three hours, one issue of Cosmo US, two cups of tea and a head massage later, my hair looks like this:
I’m also wearing my new spandex bustier dress from American Apparel which I’ve fallen head over heels for, even though it’s definitely venturing on the super-slut side. I will not, just to clarify, be leaving the house in this dress without black tights on. Admittedly, I was quite disappointed that my order was late (I haven’t even received the other three items yet, after 1st class delivery purchased on the 25th, hm) and there were some weird marks on the dress when I got it out of the parcel – bit shoddy given the dress costs £46. And Christ alive, if you’re not up for baring, don’t buy it haha: I got it out of the bag and thought they’d sent me a vest top in lieu of the dress, it’s tiny.
I’ll be wearing mine with a slouchy cardigan or my purple Topshop kimono to ease off on the whore stakes, unless it’s for a night out, then I’ll be teaming it with heels, black tights and some MAC lipstick. Hopefully my other AA pieces will turn up tomorrow so I can drop you a post about those, too. Come on Royal Mail, sort it out.
Find me on Twitter @Ebzo.