I knew that dying my hair neon pink would have consequences. Primarily, becoming a total rock star and awesome. And maybe I figured some people might give me some funny looks, too. But there were some unintentional consequences to having pink hair that I never imagined.
The reactions I get from people.
Well, like I said, I figured I would get some kind of reaction from people, and most of them have been what I expected. There are some second looks, some too long stares, but otherwise most of the feedback I get from people has been positive. I can’t hardly walk out in public without someone telling me that they love my hair. (I’m especially popular among the 4-10 year old girl demographic.) But a few people’s reactions have been just wacky.
First, there’s the people who ask me if it’s real. Which normally might be a legitimate question, except that I keep getting asked this at work, which indicates that they think I’m wearing a wig at work. Which would be like wearing a wig to the gym or to help your buddy move. And who does that? I’ve also had a few people ask me if I did it for Halloween. I guess they have a hard time imagining that anyone would chose this hair color as a conscious fashion choice and they need to find another explanation. Sorry. I just dig it.
Then there are the people who feel the need to touch it. As if…I don’t even know what they think will happen. It will feel like plastic or it’ll jump up at their touch instead of being just regular ol’ hair. And let me tell you, there’s something very uncomfortable about having a complete stranger walk up to you and grab of few of your strands for inspection. (Especially if you haven’t washed your hair in a few days.)
But my favorite reaction, by far, came from our theatre’s piano tuner. He looked right at me, and with a giant smile said, “I like your pink hair, I don’t care what anyone else says!” …thanks? Luckily none of the people who don’t like it have told me yet, so I it’s not something I’ve had to deal with yet. But I do enjoy me a backhanded compliment, so thanks for that.
Becoming the point person on deck because road crew can find me quickly and recognize me easily.
As previously discussed, of all the members of our house crew I’m usually remembered more than others because I’m frequently the only chick on stage. And some people do feel more comfortable approaching me with questions than the asshole who’s actually in charge of the deck. (Read: Kyle.) But ever since I went pink the frequency with which road crew seeks me out has increased dramatically. Maybe it’s because the pink makes me look more approachable, or maybe it’s because they can find me more easily than they can find Kyle, but either way road crew seems to gravitate towards me with all their questions, regardless of whether it’s my department or not. Questions about our audio gear, procedure for getting buses through security, even catering requests, I’ve fielded them all. I don’t mind the questions, since I usually just pass the person off to the actual authority on the subject, but I never would have imagined that my hair color apparently makes me an authority on how someone goes about getting a ten-pound bag of ice for the bus.
Morning showers are decidedly less indulgent.
I shower every morning. Every. Morning. And I (used to) wash my hair every morning. Every. Morning. I felt greasy if I didn’t. I used to looooove a long, luxurious shower with water so hot that it nearly scalded me. But hot water and shampoo are hell on colored hair and I don’t want my pink fading any faster than it has to, so sacrifices had to be made. Now, it’s still a shower every morning, but shampoo only twice a week and in the coldest water I can stand. No more standing in the shower while the hot water runs over my head and listening to Sara Bareilles; now I duck the stream and keep my head as far away from the water as I can. And no more jumping in the tub for a hot shower to warm my bones on a cold morning; now it’s shivering through the fastest shower I can manage, trying to keep the cold water away from my body and the warm water away from my hair. It’s a sacrifice that I’m more than willing to make in exchange for kick ass color, but I do miss me a steamy hot shower.
But speaking of steamy hot showers…
Shower time is decidedly less sexy.
Kyle and I used to shower together all the time. In college we had the same early morning class, so we showered together every morning because neither one of us was willing to get up early enough for both of us to make it in and out of the shower in time. It’s not much of an issue of time these days, but we do still enjoy a shower together every so often. Sometimes these showers lead to sexy time, but sometimes they’re just a chance to talk through our day and spend some time together in a steamy little box void of distraction. (With maybe some light molestation.)
But now shower time is void of pretty much all sexiness. I’m constantly turning the temperature of the water up and down depending on whether I’m washing my body or my hair, and this drives Kyle absolutely insane. I go to ridiculous lengths to keep my hair away from the water, which forces us to twist and contort more than Catherine Zeta Jones in Entrapment And then there’s the shower caps. I like to wear them because I don’t have to work quite as hard to keep the hot water away from my hair, and also when I deep condition my hair on wash days, but according to Kyle shower caps are NOT sexy. They are, apparently, the opposite of sexy. They make his penis sad. So not only do I spend shower time alternately freezing/burning him and nearly elbowing him in the face, but my insistence in poofy plastic headgear pretty much guarantees that Kyle ain’t getting any shower nookie.
How much Kyle would like my pink hair
Despite the fact that they ruined sexy shower time. Sure, he was supportive of my decision to go pink, but I never imagined how much he would like it. He loves it. He calls me “Pinky” and for the first two weeks couldn’t stop touching it. He keeps daily running commentary on how my color’s holding up and already has plans for helping me do my re-dye in four weeks. (Though that may have more to do with all the dye I splattered all over the bathroom when I tried to do it by myself and the following hours we both spent scrubbing pink spots off the linoleum.) Kyle’s never really shown a large interest in my fashion choices one way or another. (Unless it makes the girls look good, and then he is in full favor.) But for whatever reason he really digs the pink hair.
How much I would like my pink hair.
Okay, that’s not totally true. I knew how much I would love my new hair. What I didn’t expect was to realize how much I hated my natural hair color. It was a non-color, blondish-brownish nothing. I wasn’t a true blonde, I wasn’t a true brunette, I was…blah. I tried adding the stripes of bleached hair, but that only took me from boooooring to mildly interesting. I’ve never liked my old hair, but now that I’ve gone pink I can’t fathom ever going back. I won’t always be pink; I’m sure at some point I’ll grow bored with it or outgrow it. But after pink I’m going purple and blue and aqua…anything but natural. Fuck natural. I’m pink now.