That’s what I told everyone months before my high school graduation—that I would celebrate the end of my high school life by getting rid of my hair.
I went to an all-girls Catholic school that didn’t allow short hair, that forbade hairstyles that would reveal our ears. Going bald would be the ultimate act of rebellion, my first big taste of freedom.
But I never did it. I just didn’t have the guts. Besides, I don’t think I have the face to go with a bald head. I have my own delusions, but I know I’m no Natalie Portman.
Hair rebel
Years later, I realized there were other ways to be a “hair rebel” while keeping your precious locks.
I decided I wanted pink hair.
Two months after meeting Rose Velasco at a Procter and Gamble hair and beauty show in Shanghai, I found myself in a comfortable seat in Jude Hipolito’s Kaizen salon, excitedly watching as Rose bleached my hair and gave me cotton candy streaks.
Rose, a coloring expert, initiated me into the world of the dyed and the restless.
With her magic powers, she gave me pink streaks that I can easily hide if I wanted normal-looking hair again.
But now I don’t want normal-looking hair again.
Someone once said that once you start dyeing your hair, you’ll find it hard to stop. He’s right.
Months passed and my streaks got lighter and lighter. On a trip to Phoenix, I found temporary pink hair dye at Hot Topic, the kind that faded each time you shampooed. I spent that night in my hotel bathroom, dyeing my hair the perfect shade of candy pink.
That’s when I realized something magical—that I could keep dyeing my own hair pink.
Going to salons for hair color could get expensive, and because I could be a cheapskate sometimes, I just kept coloring my own hair. It wasn’t that hard, especially since my streaks had already been bleached.
Re-pinking
I was able to use that bottle of dye a number of times. And when it ran out, I bought a jar of Manic Panic, the dye brand a lot of celebrities swear by, from Dennis Rodman and Joss Stone to Cyndi Lauper and Marilyn Manson.
Re-pinking every couple of months became a part of my routine, just another number on my list of things to do: 1. Write. 2. Pick up groceries. 3. Dye hair.
I’ve had my share of disasters, of course. They’re to be expected when you are attempting to do something that should be left to professionals.
There was that time I decided not to wear gloves. I had pink hands for days.
There was that time I stubbornly decided to keep watching DVDs on my iBook with the dye still in my hair. My laptop is still a little stained from that crazy afternoon.
I’ve colored my hair while wearing garbage bags (and occasionally just underwear) to make sure I didn’t get unnecessary stains on my clothes.
Return to salons
I’ve returned to salons a few times to have my hair bleached again. At Toni & Guy, I had my hair colored a dark shade of blue, but blue just doesn’t last very long on my hair.
I still do most of my coloring at home with the help of my coloring assistant—my mother.
I soon got bored with pink.
Thanks to a wide range of really inexpensive permanent hair color I found in Singapore, I’ve tried many different shades—hair colors nature never intended us to have. I’ve tried purple, blue, red, even blue and red at the same time (that was a mistake, I looked like a flag). I may never have the guts to try green, though.
Pink again
Realizing I still had a box of violet pink hair dye from a previous shopping trip in Singapore, I headed to a quiet neighborhood salon a few weeks ago and had my hair colored again.
This time, there’s no way to hide the streaks. Five big chunks of my hair are now pink, including my overgrown bangs.
As expected, the jokes came. “You have paint on your hair!” “Oh no, has your grandma seen you?” But I waved them all off.
Strangers still stare sometimes, but they don’t bother me, either. My pink hair makes me happy.
Since I’ve gone pink, a number of people have told me the same thing: “I wish I could be as brave.”
I don’t think I’m brave, though. I’ve been wanting to color all my hair pink, but two things are stopping me. One, bleaching your entire head can be really painful (remember those girls crying on America’s Next Top Model?) and, two, some friends have threatened to avoid being seen in public with me if I decide to go all the way.
My streaks have started to fade faster than usual. But I don’t mind. Because I still have a box of light blue dye waiting to be used.
