The Promise of Fun

I decided awhile ago that I would like to dye my hair something unexpected--something ombre tones of blues, purples, mermaid hair, perhaps. I think that i was as much for a shock factor as it was to try to try on new identities. I have struggled with *knowing myself* for a long time and I felt sure that this would help.

I went into the salon with a picture in hand and an idea of how things would play out. I chose a reputable (see: expensive) place in the hopes that they had enough vision and experience to help to mold my desires into reality. I gave some instruction, and some allowance for their own abilities to come through.

All the way through the four hours I spent in the chair, I was reassured that it was going to be "fun" and "wasn't I excited?" and even a small critique that I didn't sound excited enough. (What is that level of excitement, anyway?) I told her pointedly that something depression didn't help, sounding excited being one of the casualties, probably. She agreed with me but I would tell she had no real idea about what it meant to be impacted in that way. Still, I was glad to have spoken up because if not me, who? and if not now, when?

I came out with hair that was decidedly purple with very little blue and undone parts that made it look like I was weeks into my dye job with black roots. I wasn't unhappy with it, per se, it *was* fun and I did like the purple more than I thought I would. It was a flattering colour for me and I was assured that the purple shampoo would increase the blend of the dye job into my own hair.

So now I am left pondering if this did, indeed, shift my sense of identity. If I failed at setting some boundaries in my request and if I could have (should have?) spoken up when it turned out not quite as I had envisioned? I have more questions than answers at this point and no closer to sorting them out.