True colours

I know everyone is feeling a little stressed these days, and I don’t want to contribute to your anxiety, but I feel like I need to reveal a truth about myself.

There’s nothing like a pandemic to expose our truths. I suggest you sit down for this.

Ready? Deep breath. Here it goes: I am not a natural reddish-brunette, nor is the significant blonde streak of hair at the front of my face my true colour.

Anyone need smelling salts? It’s okay. Take a moment. Exhale. It’s big. I’ve been living at least a decade now in a tangled web of lies and splitting the ends. I know, this is a lot to take in. I’ll wait for you to compose yourself.

You may think differently of me now. I accept that. For years you’ve been thinking, how did Kelly get that stark blonde streak at the front of those mahogany locks? How does that dark red-brown hair have just enough colour in it to catch the sunlight with a tinge of red without looking fake?

Truth is, ladies and gentlemen, it’s all smoke and mirrors (well, spritz and mirrors, if we’re being accurate). It’s all an illusion, a genetic impossibility to be sure. Okay, it’s a blatant lie.

I’m exposing the truth now because there is simply no way to hide it (thank you very much, pandemic). The roots don’t lie. This is not the silver lining I was hoping for. My natural hair colour is apparently a mixture of silver and white. Think Santa Claus with tinsel hair extensions.

That’s right. A month into this ridiculous COVID crisis and I look like I have been sanding drywall daily without a hat. I look like a piece of a plaster ceiling fell and landed directly in the centre of my head. Or like I lost a food fight with a bag of icing sugar. I look like a dormant snow globe just waiting for a shake-up. Skunks wink when they pass by. Awkward.

I don’t want to hear bottle-blondes whining about their dark roots, either. Everyone knows that looks cool. If the streaks fade out, nobody notices. You’re still gorgeous. What I wouldn’t do for a mousy brown crown of natural hair. But see what happens when you live a lie? You live undercover so long you don’t even realize your cover changed.

Honestly, I have no issue with grey and white hair. Lots of beautiful women I know look fabulous with it, like my mother. She looks amazing, but with dark blue eyes and fair skin, she would.  Have you seen my pasty skin tone? I’m confident that is not a look I can pull off.

So while many of you are missing your family and friends during this pandemic, I miss my hairstylist, Emma. She’s the mastermind of my smooth mahogany illusion with the evil blond streak that has become a part of my identity. I hold her in the highest regard. Truly.  She knows my insecurities, celebrates my victories, chastises my weaknesses until they become strengths and helps me be my best self. She is straight up honest and will not allow me to make poor decisions. Yes to bangs. No to short hair. Yes to deep conditioner. She is essential to me. Emma knows me and brings out my best. She knows my true colours. When this is over, she’ll be my silver lining.

Don’t even try to get her first appointment slot. Called it.

WriteOut of Her Mind