To Colour, or Not to Colour…Is that Ink?

I love quirky things.  I love quirky ideas.  I love quirky people.  But, I am still a realist. A realist who lives in a conservative little sleepy-hollow town.

This post is quite probably going to offend some people, and that is okay – as I said in my A-Z of Advice yesterday, sometimes one’s opinion is not necessarily the only right one.

Recently, I had my hair cut; not because I wanted to mind you, but because I had toI was beginning to resemble an unkempt witch:  scraggly ends, broken, frizzy bits, and the comb getting stuck…  If someone had gifted me a pointy hat, I would have looked the part for sure!  It was another unbudgeted expense, but it was worth it.

The hairdresser is a friend of a friend of mine.  He is an absolute gem.  When I told him to cut off as much as he wanted he gasped in horror, telling me that he loves long hair and will make me look gorgeous with a new chop.  It took a few days of getting used to, I’ll admit.  This morning, for the first time since the great snip, I actually like my new style.

I’ve often looked at photos of Rainbow Hair Designs (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, just Google it), thinking to myself wow, I’d love to do that!  That was until I drove past someone the other day who obviously had the same idea I had, but actually having gone through with it – mostly blue and purple, which I’m sure must have looked rather hip before the sun faded it in patches, leaving her looking like a three year old had smudged finger paint in her fringe, and other parts of her rather beautiful platinum blond locks.  She was younger too, about 5 years give or take, if I have to hazard a guess.  After spying her I thought, how is anyone ever going to take her seriously looking like that?  The same applies to people that look like a tattoo artist’s colouring in book or have multiple, visible piercings.  And, before you lynch me, some of my closest friends are inked (and I mean a lot of ink), but they know too, when to cover up.  I love looking at their tattoos, because so often, there is a story behind them.  A quirky story that makes me want to get to know even more about them.

Before I continue, I would like to state, for the record, that, in my line of work, colour is at the core of our product.  We have to keep up with colour trends all over the world and develop products accordingly.  We are already in the process of planning the range of colours for Autumn/Winter 2017-18.

In an economy though, where work is worth its weight in gold, how does anyone expect to be taken seriously when they look like a faded peacock is nesting on their heads or  they have a dragon openly breathing flames in the nape of their neck, or a rose rambling from their shoulder to their wrist?

While I have no ink of my own (although I have considered it), I’ve had a splash of colour added to my hair before, but

  1. It was for a good cause (cancer awareness) – all the girls at the office did it, and
  2. It was a single colour, in moderation.


I will never forget a time, when I was much younger, after I broke up with my second serious boyfriend; I went to my friend Cassandra, a hairdressing sorceress and gave her carte blanche with my hair, provided she made me blond.  After all, blonds are supposed to have more fun, right?  I got home feeling like a modern day Norma Jean, only for my dad to tell me “You look like a prostitute and you’re not going anywhere looking like that.”  The next day he went to town, bought me a home hair colouring kit and made me dye my hair a darker, more acceptable shade.  At the time I thought he was overreacting, but looking back in perfect 20-20 hindsight, I realize that he was right.

Unless you’re a person working in the industry of funky hair design or a body artist, you need to think twice about how you are going to be perceived by a potential employer, particularly in a conservative culture, such as ours, even more so in a small town like the one where I live.

So yes, I’m judging the proverbial book by the cover, but in certain instances, one has to be sensible and remember

That’s just my five cents worth.

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