But on my way back to New York, they stopped me at security and I had to consolidate two bags into one. It could’ve been a coincidence, but on my way to San Francisco, when I still had brown hair, I didn’t get caught for bringing an extra carry-on bag onto the plane. Here are some of the biggest changes I noticed. But I finally felt I had hair as unique and colorful as I was.įrom the moment I stopped out of that salon, people were already treating me differently. Ironic, I know, since I looked as different from the way I was born as possible. ( Bleaching kind of destroys your hair, so the ends don’t always hold up.) But afterward, I looked in the mirror and for the first time, I thought I looked like myself. I had a brief mid-appointment freakout when I saw myself blonde, and then another one when I learned they had to cut off several inches to avoid damage. I decided to go to Posh in San Francisco at a friend’s recommendation, showed the photo to their colorist Whitney, and put the fate of my hair into her hands.
I googled “blue hair” and browsed the image results until I found one I loved, which faded from turquoise at the top to green at the bottom.
I was going to do it and not pay attention what anyone thought - except, that is, for the purpose of an experiment: I would document how my hair color affected the way people treated me.įor such a big decision, I honestly didn’t put all that much thought into it. I wondered how people would treat me differently with colored hair that was a shade not found in nature.īut this summer, I decided that the haters were not my problem. But dyeing it always seemed like an act reserved for an older, braver version of myself. For years, I had this fantasy that one day, when I was grown up and self-actualized, I would have blue hair.
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