Carla Gypsygirl's Blurty

Let this be a lesson to y'all

One of my personal rules of life is this: never, ever do anything dramatic to your hair if you are upset. So why did I break that rule exactly a week ago?

I have this particular life rule because I figure it's better to deal with what's inside first, before trying to prove to people that you've changed by changing your hair. Plus, I'd gone and chopped my hair short way too many times, just because a boy I was crushing on didn't return my amorous feelings. $70 per haircut is a lot of money to pay to heal a broken heart. And the whole cutting-my-hair-cos-boys-are-evil thang just started to seem so damned obvious. I mean, where would Shakespeare have been if he'd been chopping his hair instead of writing sonnets and plays and stuff?

But last Tuesday, I'd just had enough. I've had many moments in the past few months where I've just felt so, you know, hopeless. I really do feel that I'm lagging behind my peers...people are buying property, getting promotions, getting married, and I still feel like a little kid. I know that it's silly to feel that you have to do what everyone else is doing. But sometimes, I'd just like a bit of security, as well as a nice self-esteem boost. I've applied for so many jobs and been turned down so many times that I'm more surprised if a potential employer doesn't reject me.

So, last Tuesday, I was so mad and upset that I felt like I needed to do something to cheer myself up. I meant to dye streaks in my hair in a mild shade of brown. I chose a pack of hair dye with a picture of a girl on the front who had blonder hair than Barbie. I figured that since my hair was black, it would probably go brown instead of blond. And so, after mixing the chemicals that came in the pack (it stank!) and slathering it into my hair, I sat and waited. I expected that my hair would have an innate understanding of my stylish taste, and that it would obediently turn a lovely shade of chocolate brown. So, when I washed the bleach off, I was HORRIFIED to find that my hair had turned a hideous shade of ORANGUTAN ORANGE. It was bright, dry, and practically fluorescent. So I quickly mushed some deep purple dye on top, and I sat and waited again. After I washed the purple off, my hair turned a vibrant shade of PINK. I felt like a clown, or a busted traffic light. I felt like a year 9 kid heading off to their first Big Day Out.

Everyone was really nice about my new hair colour. I didn't even get in trouble about it at work. But I just didn't like my hair...I felt that I was beyond the crazy-hair stage of life. And, believe it or not, it's really hard to find clothes and makeup to wear with nuclear-calamine-lotion-coloured hair. And so today, I re-dyed the streaks with a permanent shade of blackish-red, and I'm finally happy with it. My streaks are now subtle and bright, but not crazy. Probably the only good thing about having brash hair is that it made me feel really tough and hard-core. Whenever anyone gave me a hard time, I'd take my hair out from its elastic and stare the person in the eye and think, "Look at me! I have bright pink hair! I mess with chemicals that turn my hair horrific colours! I risk looking like a fool on a daily basis! Now, are you gonna mess with ME?!"

By the way, I think bright hair can look totally awesome on some people. My florist friend Peta is a great example- her pinky-orange hair perfectly suits her irreverent and perky personality. But the fluoro hair just wasn't me. I must be less eccentric than I thought I was.

Do you remember that song that came out in the 90's called The Sunscreen Song? In between bits of gospel singing, this wise American dude gave lots of random advice. One of the main pieces of advice was that you shouldn't mess with your hair too much, otherwise when you are 40, your hair will look 80. Craig Nicholls, the cutie-pie lead singer of The Vines, once inspired me to cut my own hair. He claimed he could never be bothered to interact with a hairdresser, so he preferred to cut his hair himself. These days, Craig sings "Don't listen to the radio". And I would like to add to that: don't mess with your hair when you're angry, and don't use super-strong bleach without the help of an experienced and non-angry hairdresser. My icky hi-liter coloured mop was my second-worst hairdo EVER. In case you are wondering, my worst-ever hairdo was when I went to a hairdresser in my 'hood when I was 14. Back then, I was a total beanpole, and wasn't into the whole dresses and frills thing. Anyway, instead of giving me a short, ruffled crop, the hairdresser gave me a short back'n'sides. I walked out of that hair salon with my mum, sister and brother, and I heard one of my siblings whisper, "She looks like a boy!" But thank goodness hair grows out, and that there are plenty of shades of black to get rid of scary dye jobs. Mean people, however, are harder to change or escape.

Carla Gypsygirl xxx
ps. Thanks heaps to everyone who voted for my boyfriend's band, Passive Escape, on Triple J Unearthed! We totally appreciate it!