KRISTA ALBRITTON Staff Writer
Dying one’s hair has gained popularity over time, but it isn’t until recently that crazy and unnatural colors have really caught on. More and more you see people with pinks, purples and blues in their hair. Sometimes you even see the occasional wild child with a full on rainbow on his or her head.
I am proud to say that I am, and have been for many years, a member of the zany hair club. My hair has been every color under the sun and is constantly changing. Compliments are nothing new, but I find that I am constantly being asked why, exactly, I dye my hair so much. That got me thinking and I began to ask myself that exact same question: why? Why do I dye my hair?
Multiple times a year I will put harmful chemicals on my head – willingly! I’ve done this so often and for so long that I’m not even 100 percent sure what my natural color is anymore. Why would I constantly bleach and dye my hair over and over again if it causes so much damage? Why would I do something that could give a stranger the means to make possibly unfair assumptions about me? I could just as easily dye my hair a plethora of natural colors, so why the crazy ones? Surely, I must have a reason. It’s nothing so simple as the fact that I just like to do it.
I do enjoy dying my hair- there’s no doubt about that, but that’s not exactly why. No, there are reasons far deeper for the pain and suffering I put my poor hair through. First off, I have an artist’s soul, but not the skill of one. I can draw a circle and a pretty decent stick figure, but that’s just about where my artistry stops. Sometimes I get artistic urges, but am unable to successfully satiate them. Where painters turn to their brushes and easel, and those who draw turn to their sketchpads, I turn to my hair.
I can change my hair in whatever way I wish, as well as how often. I dye my hair and after everything is washed and dried I am overcome with such a feeling of satisfaction. My inner artist is fed and put to rest – until my hair fades and the vicious cycle begins again. As terrible and damaging as this cycle is, it’s crucial for my daily existence. I use my hair as an outlet for expression. Too often I find myself unable to express myself to the world and to those unknown to me. I am a rather shy individual and rarely do I feel that I stand out or that my voice is heard.
Everyone wants to leave a mark during their life, but, for many (myself included), that can be unbelievably difficult. Something so simple as coloring the strands of dead skin cells growing out of my head can make all the difference in the world. When I am down and have no voice, my hair, just the same as my tattoos and piercing, speaks for me. My hair is an extension of my soul and it speaks in a way that is 1,000 times louder than I could ever vocalize.