Identity Crisis

For anyone reading this blog who's known me for at least a year you know my hair is very dark brown, naturally.  Truth be told, it's probably salt and pepper by now because I'm getting so many gray hairs.  Seriously.  I'm only 30.  It's pretty ridiculous.

Almost one year ago exactly I was headed to Minneapolis with friends to meet the Pioneer Woman at her Mall of America cookbook signing.  In fact, it was the subject of one of my first blog posts.  During said meeting I was horrified to see how noticeable my gray roots were in pictures.  Please observe.

First picture, not so bad thanks to the lighting.  Second picture?  Either that's a very wide bald spot where my part is, or it's gray roots.  I wish I could say it was the former.  

Let me also tell you that to avoid such follicular faux pas as demonstrated above, I was at the salon every five weeks for a touch up (much to my husband's dismay).  I decided to take charge.  I asked my wonderful hair stylist what we could do.  She suggested gradual additions of highlights, and a slow progression to lighter overall color as well.  The result was this.

Subtle, caramel hightlights and a redder undertone all over to warm it up.  I really liked it.  But I did notice that my hair felt more coarse with each addition of highlights.  I could handle it though.  I was now able to wait six or seven weeks between salon visits.  And it was as fun look.  Eventually this look turned into this.

Ummm.  Who is this blonde girl?  And what happened to her silky locks?  They were FRIED, I tell you!  FRIED.  I could no longer run my fingers through my hair.  No matter how much product I put in there (dry, wet, pre-styled, post-styled) I couldn't get my hair to feel silky like it once had.  The shine was gone.  What about the gray hairs I was trying to hide?  They were no longer a concern because I was so light that my dark roots stood out.  I had the complete opposite problem to deal with now.  

The straw that broke the camel's back was our visit to Six Flags last weekend.  Scott caught a glimpse of my roots in the sunlight and gasped in horror.  "SEE," I said.  "I told you it's necessary to visit the salon so often!"  For the first time he agreed with me.  The blonde wasn't working well enough to be worth it.  I missed my dark hair, and so did Scott.  So yesterday I had this done.

Goofy picture, but you get the point.  The funniest part?  I thought I would love it.  I really like it, but it's almost like I forgot what I looked like this way.  Who am I?  Why does dark hair make me feel so grown up?  Can you say identity crisis?  

I'm a pretty confident woman, and I don't need others to compliment me if I'm happy with how I look.  But when you don't know who's looking back at you in the mirror it's nice to have some sort of affirmation.  Fortunately, Scott loves it!  Proof?  Today he said, "I'm probably gonna regret saying this later, but it's worth the more frequent salon visits if you keep it dark."

Booyah!