Loyal readers, I have a confession to make: I've never
actually colored my hair.
This revelation would be shocking enough even if I wasn't a
beauty writer of sorts. But I'm something of an average brunette, and I just
never found hair color to be a real necessity. Oh, and have I mentioned I'm a
classic Type A? Roots are something I'm not sure I'll be able to handle.
When I chat with Peter Bradley and Dirk Diegel of Bradley
& Diegel (77 Newbury Street, Boston, 617.266.7707) about my
affliction, however, they're aghast - and immediately pair me with stylist and
colorist Emily Goodwin.
I break the first rule of
hair color when I arrive at the salon sans magazine cut-outs of my desired hue.
(What? I trust the experts.) Goodwin, super-cute in her fiery red locks and
cowgirl boots, forgives me quickly, then proceeds to look me up and down for a
skin tone/eye color/hair assessment. We immediately get to discussing - me
admitting my aversion to chunky blonde streaks in dark hair, Goodwin detailing
her past personal experiments with both platinum blonde and inky black and her
firm belief that I could try just about anything. After kicking around a few
ideas, we decide upon all-over honey-colored highlights, with lowlights painted
throughout for dimension.
They wash me first, the massage chair - and the adorable shampoo
boy - doing wonders to soothe my nerves. We head back in front of the mirror,
and after a couple of snips of Goodwin's shears, I've lost a few inches but
gained a long, sweeping bang: the perfect canvas for some lighter pieces around
my face.
From there, Goodwin turns her attention to one tiny section of my
hair after another, methodically painting, smoothing, and wrapping each in
tinfoil at satisfyingly perfect right angles. As we chat absentmindedly, I
begin to realize that all of the freaking rules for maintenance are largely
what have prevented me from coloring my hair in the past. To my surprise,
though, Goodwin's mandates are refreshingly simple. Choose a low-pH shampoo and
conditioner, an easy grab on your way out of the salon; drugstore brands marked
"color preserving" will do the trick too. Wash and condition in cool water
instead of scalding-hot - admittedly tough to keep up in this early-onset
winter, but relatively painless nonetheless. Instead of piling hair atop one's
head to shampoo, wash only the top and allow the foam to drip down, cleansing
the rest of the head without over-agitating. And as for conditioner, I learn
something I'd long suspected: if you rinse hair squeaky clean, it can't do its
job. Don't be afraid to leave a thin, protective film on locks.
Newly educated and determined to play by the rules this once, I
sit patiently under the newfangled portable steam dryer, which proceeds to melt
my makeup but provides a fairly decent facial of sorts, so I can't complain.
Apparently, it seals my hair color faster than your average dryer - though I
can't help but feel like I'm channeling my grandmother, who surely spent many
an hour setting her perm under those big domed dryers back in the day. Then,
all that's left is the removal, the wash, the blow-dry, and, at long last, the
reveal.
That moment, sitting in the chair facing that gigantic mirror,
soggy-haired and unflatteringly lit, is always the most painful of the entire
experience, the one when I inevitably question pretty much every beauty
decision I've ever made. I scrunch my eyes closed and pretend I don't resemble
a wet dog. When I peek again, though, my new 'do is smooth and super-shiny, the
caramel pieces glinting subtly each time the light hits them. I breathe a sigh
of relief: I'm still myself, only a better, less mousy, more dynamic version of
me. A hair-color convert, perhaps? Only time will tell - and, by time, I mean
the moment those first roots begin to show in the slightest.
That evening, my friends from college are in town for a night of
dancing. The girls "ooh" and "aah" over my new look when I make my grand
entrance, and later that night, as I'm first-pumping and head-tossing to the
sounds of "Jessie's Girl," I'm suddenly fully aware of the difference a day -
and a head full of foils - can make.
