I'm A Blonde, Despite Disasters

I'm a blonde.

I was born with blonde hair. It gets darker in the winter and, yes, there are some gray strands in there now. But I'm still a blonde.

I just am not sure how long I should stay one. As natural as it all is underneath -- and as much as I would give the evil eye to anyone who suggested differently -- I have to rely on the salon to keep it fresh.

Highlighting has become a necessary and expensive maintenance plan for me, and I'm sick of it. It never looks how I want it to, and it leaves me wishing I spent that money on something more practical.

So I decided to go it alone last month. This was despite home highlighting disasters before, including years when Sun-In seemed like a good idea until I heard people whisper "carrot top."

I know I can't be relied on to dye at home, but something about the $10 versus $100 price tag called my name.

It took trips to three different stores before I found the right kit. I wanted something that was easy to do and wouldn't make my hair so white that I'd look like a cheap imitation of one of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends -- minus implants.

The tricky part was that there are so many to choose from. I could have chosen a cap kit that requires painfully pulling the hair through tiny holes in a claustrophobic plastic hat that never sits as closely to the scalp as needed. Or the hairpainting kits that promise bold, stylish streaks in a few easy steps.

At least, it seemed easy until I struggled for a half-hour to create "dramatic effects" with a wand that continually backed up with my hair strands and didn't quite allow me to focus on small sections, as instructed.

I set my watch and waited until my time was up. And that's when I saw orange.

I told myself there was no need to panic. Nothing a few dozen shampoos wouldn't take care of. Plus, what's wrong with a handful of orange streaks? I decided to call myself strawberry blonde and pretend that the mismatched shades and not-so-subtle roots were intentional.

Most people would tell me I didn't leave it in long enough. That may be true, but after twice the recommended processing time, I got itchy. I wanted to see my dull, dirty blonde looking sassy, not brassy.

My best friend informed me of my options: head to the salon or dye it all over. But I'd wanted to avoid paying a salon in the first place.

I cringed on my return trip to the store, hoping no one I know would spot me in the hair-product aisle -- again. A Web site told me to choose a demi-permanent dye, which lasts about 24 washes. But the stock was all permanent amid a few semipermanents, which weren't going to cut it.

But I was determined. I found what I needed and returned stealthily to my lab. My husband accepted that I was two bad dye jobs away from shaved-head crazy and grumbled, "Good luck," with all eyes on his regularly scheduled program.

Dyeing is a lot easier than highlighting. I tried my best not to rub it into my scalp and relax, knowing I didn't have to worry about small or big sections. Just bring it on.

When it was all over, I was less devastated. It's not the way I wanted it to end up, but it was doable -- a good patch job until I suck it up and hit the salon again.

Adventures in home dyeing can be exciting. Some women and men do it successfully each month, knowing that those slight color flaws are comparable to natural hair anyway. More importantly, like any good paint job, it fades.

Each time I think I'm going to go for brown instead -- less pricey to maintain than highlights -- I realize that blonde hair makes me feel lighter and brighter, despite the dumb jokes. It can be the palest winter day, but I know that I will still look sunkissed.

During those moments of color-confused weakness, I just have to remind myself what I told you in the first place: I'm a blonde. No matter how I get there, that's how it's going to be.

Laura Lewis Brown is an adventurous newlywed who has loved, lost and doesn't mind sharing. Her column appears every other Thursday.