I did it on Friday.
It’s not really a big deal.
I didn’t think about what I wanted to do with my hair leading up to my appointment. Consumed with school, drama, and an unfortunately timed wisdom teeth surgery, my mind was not focused on my hair or what color and length I desired it to be. My hair has been both a small and a large part of my identity, at least for the more recent years of my life. In high school, I was blonde, ginger, and even had a phase of hot pink. After a long time of experimenting over my years of highlights, I settled during February in my senior year and dyed my hair brunette.
And I loved it.
I remember walking into my first class the day after my appointment with my hair freshly styled. It was curly, chocolatey brown, and definitely fell below my collarbones. My former theater teacher compared me to Carrie Bradshaw—the ultimate compliment. I found myself perfectly in love with my new do.
I accomplished a lot with my brunette hair, though not because of it or even correlated with it at all, simply the fact that I got stuff done during the past year. I graduated from high school, started my first year of college, lived through my first relationship, and finished my first year of college as a brunette. Given, I had a phase of “red” hair in the winter, I still identified as a brunette.
I got published in my school newspaper. I was accepted into both dance clubs on campus. I danced in a short film and a music video. I changed my major, moved dorm buildings, and swapped my silver nose ring for gold.
I traversed the city of Boston. From the docks at the Esplanade during golden hour to the bustling street of Newbury or the regal walls of the Boston Public Library—bipple as my friends and I affectionately called it. I saw my favorite artist in concert, hugged him, and texted him on Instagram; he even liked and commented on my posts twice. God, I love Kid Bloom.
I survived my freshman year. My wisdom teeth surgery too, which I took like a champ, I must add. I pulled myself through burnout, mental breakdowns, and five days of untreated strep throat right before finals.
And then I dyed my hair. I bleached it. Golden highlights with some face-framing pieces that remind me of Rachel Green. I cut it, too, probably two inches.
Why?
I’ve wanted to do something new with my hair for a while. In all honesty, I’ve been wanting to reinvent myself in general for some time. Maybe it’s the imposter syndrome or the post-breakup craziness that has been occupying my thoughts since March, but it was time for a change. More than switching academic departments or my signature jewelry metal.
My brunette hair saw me through my last musical with my hometown friends and my first season as a camp counselor with the theater company I hold close to my heart. My brunette hair saw me through my first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, and first heartbreak. Those locks saw me stay up until three in the morning to complete finals or finish my article to be published the next day. You get the gist.
I made friends, lost friends, had crushes, found mentors, and made enemies, all with my brunette hair. I laughed, I cried—a lot, I sang and danced, I studied, I wrote, I read just a little bit, and I grew.
And I sit here, with my freshly lightened hair, mourning the hair that saw me through one of the best and worst years of my life.
I have already made memories as a blonde. With pink, red, and orange hair too. And now, as I bid (a most likely temporary) goodbye to my chocolatey locks, I look forward to wherever this golden-brown-blonde-hybrid hair color takes me.
Is this really about hair? No. It’s about moving on, making change, and facing the future head-on.
With the passing of my brunette hair era, I move on to the next chapter of growing. Taking the lessons I learned and using them to become a better and brighter version of myself.
I have all of the summer to spend in my small New Hampshire town, lying by my pool or walking around downtown with my best friend. Maybe I’ll teach myself how to play guitar or pick up making jewelry. I’ll make Pinterest boards about my dream room, dream closet, dream tattoos, dream everything. I’ll tell myself I want to stretch every day, listen to new music weekly, and update this blog in true Carrie Bradshaw fashion, but I don’t know what’s going to happen.
I’ll make my way through the next four months just like I always do, with my hair a little lighter, my heart a little stronger, and my head a little clearer. And hopefully, come September, I’ll return to school as a better and brighter version of myself. Who knows what my hair color will be by then.
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