Everything Girl

A bit over a year ago, in January, 2007, I walked into my frou-frou salon, slumped into my stylist’s chair, set my venti nonfat raspberry mocha on the table with more force than is really advisable when handling cardboard cups of coffee, and said, “I’m bored, I can’t find my muse, I feel frumpy and unfunny, and I need a change.”

“So you want bangs again?” she teased, because I go back and forth between wanting bangs and detesting them.

“Yes,” I said, “but I want more.” I sat up straight in the chair and, with exaggerated motions, peered around the room as if I were a character in a bad detective novel. Then, in a stage whisper, I said, “I’ve been fantasizing about dying my hair pink.”

Thus began my first year of “living pinkly,” as I refer to it.

For most of my life - from the time I was nineteen until August of 2006 - I have worked in some aspect of the mortgage industry. When you are responsible for transactions involving hundreds of thousands of dollars, even if you work in processing and underwriting and are rarely seen by actual clients, having Technicolor hair is taboo. Somehow, it doesn’t inspire confidence when the person who is getting up-close and personal with your deepest darkest secrets (at least, as reflected on a tri-merge credit report) is sporting tresses of hues not found in nature.

Last January, however, I was about to embark upon my second career. Through networking, maintaining contents, desperation, and dumb luck, I’d found a job that actually involved being paid to sling words around the World Wide Web. Even better, I could do it at home, in my pajamas, and if I felt like sleeping til noon and working at two in the morning, I could do that as well.

Coupled with my weekend career of performing in a local improvisational comedy troupe, it meant that the time was ripe for a hair change of epic proportions.

What could be more epic than pink?

We didn’t have any pink dye handy that day - my salon of choice uses only their own products, and had discontinued their punk colors - but we did have a tube of “Rockstar Red” and enough time to bleach a few streaks. I went home with brown hair streaked with almost-metallic fire-engine red, took one look in the mirror, and fell in love.

I am the epitome of a “situational extrovert.” I clam up in large groups, I don’t generally approach strangers, and if something can be done via email rather than over the phone, well, you can guess my method of choice. Give me a stage, or a job that requires aggression, however, and I come alive. I’m the same way with my hair. Most of the time, it’s pulled back into a utilitarian ponytail, but given the chance, I’m perfectly willing to go crazy. I mean, its hair. It grows back.

“The pinker my hair got, the bolder my personality became. “

My stylist tipped me off about a brand of funky hair dye that lasts about five weeks and doesn’t smell like a toxic waste dump or an illegal chemical experiment. Over the next several months my hair got pinker and pinker, until, finally, it was about 70% pink. We started with a mix of pinks and reds, and gradually settled on a shade of magenta and a shade of hot pink that we would alternate, depending on availability and mood.

And something really interesting happened.

The pinker my hair got, the bolder my personality became. Like some twisted version of Samson (but without the toga and with way better cleavage) my hair had become my source of power. The waitress at our favorite post-comedy-show IHOP always wanted to know how long it had been since the last refresh, and little kids would come up to me and ask if they could touch it, then run back to their mothers and ask if THEY could have pink hair, too.

I found my muse, started writing my own stuff when I was through with work for the day, and in October, took an extended hiatus from the comedy troupe, not because I didn’t love it, but because I felt I was using my best creative energy on stage, instead of on paper.

I don’t know if it’s universal among women that changing hair color affects personality so deeply, but I do know that embracing pink hair was also my catalyst for embracing other changes. I’ve lost 45 pounds since last July, I’m happier and better adjusted, my finances are finally in order, my house is cleaner, and when my husband and I stay in bed til noon on weekends now, it’s not because we’re catching up on sleep.

I’ve always been the person who finds amusement in somewhat inappropriate places. If I were a home decorating tip, I’d be the punch of color that ties a room together, or the shockingly whimsical object d’art in the guest bath. I’m living pinkly. And I love it.

Melissa A. Bartell earns her living by writing articles for an SEO marketing firm, and dabbles in essays and fiction on the side. She lives near Dallas, TX with her husband, two dogs, and more computers than anyone really needs. She is the Senior Editor here at All Things Girl. Find out more about her on our About Page. You can find her at her blog as well as other places here and there.

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