|At the River Seine with my brother and sister|
Being the smart kid I am, I decided I would go to the hair salon and ask them to make it as blonde as they could get it. I didn't want to tell them I was going to dye it purple when I got home because I thought the hair stylist would try to talk me out of it and I just wanted to do it my way.
The process was hell. I spent six hours in that salon getting my hair stripped and stripped again. 6 hours! That's a ridiculous amount of time to be stuck in a hair salon with a French stylist who laughs every time he looks at your hair and tells you, "No more black. Never again," as if I had chosen my previous hair color for the sheer purpose of making his job harder. Believe me, buddy, I wasn't enjoying myself any more than you were.
After those 6 excruciatingly long hours of torture, I walked away with coppery brown hair. Since I had been stupid enough not to tell him I wanted it purple (or better yet, bring the purple dye with me for him to put over the bleached hair for me), he had to put a color over it before sending me home. The lightest he could go without frying my hair worse was that ugly shade of brown that, though it did match my eyes, irritated the crap out of me for the next two and a half weeks while I waited for it to heal up enough for me to bleach it again.
|Definitely not my favorite hair color. :/|
|Think I got enough dye on my face?|
|It's a tad brighter than this, but it'll get even lighter the more I wash it. :)|
(Also, ignore the frizziness)