An Apology to my Hairstylist

I’ve been getting my hair colored for years. Since I think the third grade. I know, it is extreme. But little Emma wanted blonde highlights to be like Britney Spears and she had a mom who encouraged her on her dream to be the next teen pop sensation. Ever since I left the world of dark blonde/maybe brown hair, I have never gone back. I love my blonde hair and I loved being a blonde. It was a part of my identity, it is true.

But like all people, I had an identity crisis. Okay not just one, I had several. I first wanted to chop all my hair off (again), but then I decided against it, seeing that last time I executed my locks I looked like a little boy. So, after watching videos and videos of Alexa Chung, and a lot of the Kardashians, I realized that in order to reach my full potential, I had to dye my hair brown. This moment of insight occurred at 10 pm on a Wednesday. As you probably know, no hair salons are open at 10 pm on a Wednesday. So I did what any logical girl who has knowledge of hair color and has been going to a salon for years would do; I decided to buy box dye.

For your information, box dye is a HUGE no. My entire life, I have sworn that I would NEVER use it. I would act all innocent sitting in the salon chair saying how I would never do such an abominable thing.


We all hit the deep end at some point am I right?

So I did it. I got the box dye. I convinced my friend to stop studying and leave the library. I’m really a great influence, I promise.

We put on the Kardashians to act as our dark hair goals and we went to town on my hair. There was no stopping it, she poured the $11 John Frieda foam straight down my roots and it had begun. Our living room smelled like chemicals and I could feel my hair being burned and ruined. It was wonderful, rebellion felt great.


I washed it out. The brown went down the drain. My hair looked black against my fair skin. And not for the first time in my life, I doubted my decisions.

I decided to wait it out and look at it the next day. And if I do say so myself, I looked INCREDIBLE. I had morphed into the French wannabe I had always dreamt of myself being. I had achieved the impossible; I could finally pass as a distant cousin to the Kardashians.


I have never felt like such a bada$s as I have while having dark hair. I feel rebellious, different, and powerful. I hide behind my sunglasses and my dark hair and I feel like I can do anything. I walk through campus with my dark hair waving through the wind and I feel like I can be the cool smart kid who knows everything.

Sure, I could do that with blonde hair, but this change pushed me to reach my full potential. There was a brown haired girl hiding under the blonde, and she came out ready to pounce.

I guess all this is to say that yes, while I dearly apologize to my wonderful hair stylists that I have had throughout my life, the poor college student in me finally committed the deadly sin and box dyed her hair. And I hate to admit it, but I’ll most likely be doing it again.

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