Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Color Me, Mine
4:37 PM | Posted by
Veronica Marché |
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As I mentioned in my first post, I am rocking a head of chemical- and color-free curls for the first time since I was a little girl. Now, I've been relaxer free since 2001, but, if my hair had a color story, it would be called "Taste the Rainbow."
It all started freshman year. Fresh on the campus at Howard, my crew consisted of five other ladies with eclectic personalities and even more eclectic tastes. Two of the girls closest to me -- Tara and Jazz -- were art majors, who'd already spent a considerable amount of time experimenting with their hair in high school.
It would take one trip to the beauty supply store on Georgia Avenue to get me and my bestie Shavon to experiment too. Tara introduced us to the semi-permanent color aisle, where brands like Adore and Clairol Jazzing jumped out at us. We soon learned that these products could color your hair -- without really coloring your hair.
Promptly, we each selected a color. Again, we each felt the need to have a "look." Jazz chose a vibrant purple rinse, while Shavon selected a more beginner-friendly burgundy shade. Tara knowingly picked up a red, as if she'd done this before -- because she had. I didn't know what to pick. Eventually, Tara selected a hot pink for my tresses.
We got back to the dorm and got to work. Now, while I knew a rinse wouldn't produce a drastic change, I had expected the results to be have a little more oomph than they did. After we washed, dried and flat-ironed (I was still pressing my hair back then), we peered at each others' heads, trying to make out the five-dollar colors we'd selected. We squinted, turned our heads, and directed each other into the light until someone exclaimed, "OOH! I see it! Okay, I see it now."
Two days later I was walking home from class as the late afternoon sun started to set behind me. At the top of the hill by Founder's Library, I ran into a friend, Terri. We exchanged hi's, and then...
"Omigod! Your hair is pink!"
It is? I thought to myself. Then I peered up over the top of my glasses to look at a lock that was hanging freely in my face. The sun had caught it at just the right angle, revealing a bright fushia cast over my brown-black mane.
Oh wow. You CAN see it.
I smiled. "Yeah," I said nonchalantly to Terri. "My hair's pink. Colored it a few days ago."
She smiled back. "That is SO cool."
I walked home, grinning to myself.
Score.
It all started freshman year. Fresh on the campus at Howard, my crew consisted of five other ladies with eclectic personalities and even more eclectic tastes. Two of the girls closest to me -- Tara and Jazz -- were art majors, who'd already spent a considerable amount of time experimenting with their hair in high school.
It would take one trip to the beauty supply store on Georgia Avenue to get me and my bestie Shavon to experiment too. Tara introduced us to the semi-permanent color aisle, where brands like Adore and Clairol Jazzing jumped out at us. We soon learned that these products could color your hair -- without really coloring your hair.
Promptly, we each selected a color. Again, we each felt the need to have a "look." Jazz chose a vibrant purple rinse, while Shavon selected a more beginner-friendly burgundy shade. Tara knowingly picked up a red, as if she'd done this before -- because she had. I didn't know what to pick. Eventually, Tara selected a hot pink for my tresses.
We got back to the dorm and got to work. Now, while I knew a rinse wouldn't produce a drastic change, I had expected the results to be have a little more oomph than they did. After we washed, dried and flat-ironed (I was still pressing my hair back then), we peered at each others' heads, trying to make out the five-dollar colors we'd selected. We squinted, turned our heads, and directed each other into the light until someone exclaimed, "OOH! I see it! Okay, I see it now."
Two days later I was walking home from class as the late afternoon sun started to set behind me. At the top of the hill by Founder's Library, I ran into a friend, Terri. We exchanged hi's, and then...
"Omigod! Your hair is pink!"
It is? I thought to myself. Then I peered up over the top of my glasses to look at a lock that was hanging freely in my face. The sun had caught it at just the right angle, revealing a bright fushia cast over my brown-black mane.
Oh wow. You CAN see it.
I smiled. "Yeah," I said nonchalantly to Terri. "My hair's pink. Colored it a few days ago."
She smiled back. "That is SO cool."
I walked home, grinning to myself.
Score.
Labels:
color me mine,
hair stories
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2 comments:
OMG. Beauty Island on Georgia Ave should DEF give me a discount as many bottles of adore and jazzing I've purchased from them.
To this day, my friends all still call me 'the beautician' cause I stayed in that store buying hair products and coloring our hair. I learned how to rinse, dye, bleach and all that out of that lil store.
And like you, my hair @ HU has literally been every color of the rainbow. I'm trying to stop now, but I have an addiction!!
Girl, it is VERY hard. About 26 hours after I cut off the last of my colored ends, I saw pictures of this girl with these FLYY red curls... and I started thinking, "Hmmmm..." Lol.
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