Last Thursday I went to a salon on the Lower East Side and had my hair dyed blonde. I've been wearing a lot of big blonde wigs in my burlesque acts, so it was only a matter of time before I started thinking "What if this was my real hair?!?"
The whole thing took almost three hours, and my hair now feels like straw, but I'm really happy with how it turned out. It was also nice to have a makeover that wasn't motivated by a traumatic break-up. "Wouldn't that be fun!?" is a much better reason to dramatically change your appearance, than "Maybe cutting all my hair off will make me look less dumpable." Many people have asked me if I'm having more fun yet. I'm not really sure if that side effect has kicked in. Tonight my plans involve going home, practicing a new act, eating chili from a can, and reading 50 pages of Anna Karenina to catch up for my book club tomorrow night. That's pretty fun, right?
The whole thing took almost three hours, and my hair now feels like straw, but I'm really happy with how it turned out. It was also nice to have a makeover that wasn't motivated by a traumatic break-up. "Wouldn't that be fun!?" is a much better reason to dramatically change your appearance, than "Maybe cutting all my hair off will make me look less dumpable." Many people have asked me if I'm having more fun yet. I'm not really sure if that side effect has kicked in. Tonight my plans involve going home, practicing a new act, eating chili from a can, and reading 50 pages of Anna Karenina to catch up for my book club tomorrow night. That's pretty fun, right?
