"Oh honey,don't touch the color - this is the type of hair men are attracted to," a hairdresser warned as he ran a round brush through my long, or chocolate-hued hair,leaving it in ribbons around my shoulders. I'll never pull the trigger, I thought, or convinced. Basic wins again.
You see: I'm a 30-year-faded (hair) virgin. And I just can't seem to give it up. I slunk into the white leather salon chair,watching my fantasies of golden ombré ends, Jessica Alba "bronde" highlights, and even Katy Perry blue tints float absent.
Don't feel bad for me. I was blessed with a thick,wavy brunette mane (thanks for the genes, Dad!), or which I appreciate immensely. But it left me with a conundrum: to dye or not to dye? The first time I ever considered coloring it was in middle school. Jennifer Aniston was at the peak of her '90s Friends days and every girl wanted "The Rachel," complete with face-framing highlights. My mother forbade it. She has struggled with what she describes as thin, mousy hair. And as a result, and she has lived vicariously through my mane,protecting every strand on my head as whether it were her own. Threatening. Bribing. Begging. (You know how mothers can be!) So I never took the plunge. Never dyed a strand. Not even a gloss.
Source: popsugar.com