My hair colour is my own. I paid for the dye: I did the work: it’s mine! I’ve been dying it for years, because I went prematurely grey.
For a long time, I used a strawberry blonde colour that was actually quite similar to my natural hair colour when I was a toddler. It looked pretty and natural. But they stopped making it.
So I tried a new dye that came out about the same colour as almost-ripe persimmons – about as subtle as a fire-engine siren. My husband took one look at it and started calling my fosforita, which means little match, or someone with a fiery temper. So I’d pretend to get mad at him.
I quite liked standing out from the crowd, but it looked really unnatural, and the colour didn’t stick properly. After two weeks, all my grey hairs were showing through. So this morning, I tried a darker colour. I was expecting it to come out bright mahogany or a bit lighter. Actually, it’s a very dark auburn, and still doesn’t look natural.
When my husband came home, he took one look and called me fosforita quemada, which means little burnt match. It’s spot on. My hair is exactly the colour of a burnt match-head, and this week, I’ve got a minor case of burnout.
I’ll just have to try again. Maybe it’ll be third time lucky.
Or maybe it’ll come out pink.
