My stylist is a mad scientist.

I sort of knew it all along, but today she was glaring at my hair and then she got that look in her eye…you know the look, the one that generally goes along with “They called me MAD at the academy, but I’ll show them! I’ll show them all!” and rising maniacal laughter.

The thing is, I trust her judgment–the two tone hair is awesome, I quite enjoy it, so when she gets these looks, I generally go along with it. It’s professional courtesy to another artist, if nothing else. So when she looked from my tattoo to my hair and back again, and said “How would you like hair to match that?” I shrugged and said “Let’s do it!”

So, she dyed the bulk of it violet-black–a shade darker than the usual, the black holds longer than the red will, but honestly, it’s not different enough for me to really notice in the mirror–and the part that’s usually a more intense auburn she glared at for awhile.

“When are your conventions?”

“End of the month.”

“Great. Come in…Tuesday…and I’ll bleach this bit, and THEN dye it. I’m thinking blood red.”*

“…mommy.”

So I suspect that come next week, my hair will be rather excitingly colored. Should be fun!

And if not, it always grows out. Usually faster than I want it to.

*Bleach is apparently an alarming prospect overtop of colored hair…particularly hair that has taken X number of colorings, and is in layers of coloredness. And straighteneredness. This makes application of bleach difficult if one doesn’t want the hair to melt or turn bright pink.

“Hypothetically, what would happen if I wanted to be a platinum blonde?”

“I’d cry for several hours before your appointment. No, scratch that. I’d get the clippers. We’ll shave your head, and dye what grows out.”