Hi. My name is D and I am a Hair Snob.
Really. I am.
I religiously trim my split-ends. I retouch my roots regularly. Whoever gets me in their chair is one hell of a lucky stylist because, when it comes to my hair, I have been known to spare no expense.
And now I’m going backpacking. And not spending money.
I can see this working real well.
It’s funny — if there is one thing in my life I can control its my hair color. It’s the one thing on my body I can change in a matter of moments. There have been plenty of times in my life (namely during break-ups, impatience and wicked hangovers) when I decided to chop/color/curl/etc. my hair.
When I lived in Las Vegas, I had it good. I did PR for Tonic Salon, where I happened to have my hair done. In trade. Which meant my look changed as often as restaurants opened (or closed).
Every time I stepped foot in the salon, I would walk out the door a revised version of myself. It started simply, I was a Maryland girl with somewhat styled hair. I went to Ruben, the owner of the salon, and he took a razor to my long hair, letting it fall around my shoulders in pretty blonde highlights.
Then, the obsession started.
From there, my hair was every color under the sun — blonde, brown, auburn, bleached and more. I had punches of strawberry blonde that peaked out when my hair was bleached; purple extensions under a red bob; the Rihanna cut before it it became popular (due to the fact my hair looked like I stuck it through a grinder following the bleach); and then, my personal favorite, five shades of red.
Yes, I was a hair SNOB.
But then, life changed.
When I moved to Atlanta, I didn’t have the money to keep up my nasty little habit. I still went to get my hair done every six to eight weeks at Cortex Salon, a charming little Bumble & bumble salon in Virginia Highlands. Only this time, my hair was simpler, more mainstream.
Rachel, my go-to stylist at Cortex, had worked my hair from the dark brown with red patches underneath to buttery blonde and highlighted, and I loved it.
However, as soon as I knew I was going to travel the world, I decided my blonde had to go along with the job. As I sat in the chair and she massaged the gooey brown dye into my hair, excitement took over. I had to do a double-take when my hair was dried — I couldn’t believe the brown falling around the face in the mirror was me — but now I love it.
This new look lets me save money — no roots to touch up, no walking around looking like a bad version of Shakira in Italy. It may not have been my first choice, but, I’m going on an extended trip. At the end of the day, I think it is a pretty fair trade.
In reality, I like my new Backpacker Brown hair … I think it will last beyond the trip.