Light shined on my hair as my fingers gently slid the towel off my head. I checked the towel to ensure that no noticeable particle of color had been left behind. I prepared my eyes for the sight of failure, but smiled as I looked in the mirror. The color was gorgeous.

Since the 8th grade, I’ve been exploring the fabulous world of hair color. Every time has been a new experiment, and it doesn’t always work out. I’ve been a horrific-looking blonde, an okay-looking brunette, a feisty red head, and a (wait for it) bright purple-headed….thing. I find that dyeing my hair is a way to release stress without doing anything too dangerous. Yes, I know that there is a chance of going bald, but I’m okay with that. I’d rather have tried it and failed than not have tried it and dreamed about it for the rest of my life.

Now, my mom has never been very keen on me dying my hair any color, and the first time I did dye my entire head, I did not have my mother’s approval. Let’s just say she was quick to drag me to the hair salon and “fix” that black and blonde mess. I look back on pictures of that day, and I’m happy that the hair color was gone before I knew it. However, I don’t regret doing it (please don’t tell my mom I said that.) The most adventurous my mom let me get before was purple and blue streaks. And that was the beginning of my hair journey.

I’ve gotten many disapproving looks from family, friends and strangers. It does bother me sometimes, but I’ve finally become comfortable with myself because of my hair. I don’t do it for the attention. In fact, there are times I wish bright abnormal hair was normal, because I’m not too fond of the attention. However, it is nice to have someone say, “Hey, your hair’s kind of cool,” instead of, “Oh. Your hair…it’s…..different.”

Since my first hair dyeing experience, I’ve dyed my hair red, brown, blonde, pink, blue and several shades of purple. Yes, my hair is not happy from the times it has been bleached, and yes, it is a pain to deal with. But, I find that I love looking in the mirror and being able to say that there is something about me that I can control and love. When I’m having a bad day and feel as if my face is a disgusting creature, I just look at my hair and go, “At least that’s cool.”