On the IGDA Women’s Dev mailing list, a conversation about the appropriateness of certain comments CliffyB recently made took an odd turn when it dissolved into a discussion about hair dying (don’t ask).
Eventually, I offered the following somewhat rambling (only 3 hours of sleep a night for the last 4 days, trying to get a new reel cut in time for the Philadelphia Videogames Expo) anecdote, which I’d like to share here.
I’ve watched my mother dye her hair every month for the last 10 years, saw all her friends do it, all MY friends do it, and never thought I’d do it myself. What was the point? After all, everyone was dying it mostly the same colors (either red or streaked blond), and why would you want to look like everyone else? And besides, its not like you can’t take one look at those girls and know its dye. And so I’d roll my eyes, I’d tease my mother, and I had a screaming fit when I was 15 and she (literally) forced me to get my hair streaked.
Maybe this is because I was born platinum blond, which grew into a thick mane of gold as I grew up, and admittedly I was quite proud of it – until a huge amount of it began to fall out towards the end of high school. It grew back luckily, but as a dull, ratty brown. The first time someone referred to me as as “brown-haired”, I was completely astonished. I looked in the mirror and said “wow, look at that. I’m a brunette”. I shrugged and went on with my life.
Senior year of college, I was very depressed (and junior year, and sophmore year, and freshmen year…). One day I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my life decided I didn’t like what I saw, was completely disgusted with myself, and missed the way I used to be. I couldn’t stand the sight of myself. Well, I couldn’t go back to who I was overnight, but there was one thing I sure as hell could do.
That night on my way home from class, I approached the hair-color aisle for the first time and spent about an hour perusing the selection. I finally settled on a box of L’oreal Superior Preference permanent blond just a bit lighter (hoping to make up for moving from such a dark shade) than my natural color in my teens. Back at home, I fumbled about with the creams and gloves, laughing to myself that a 23 year old college-educated woman should have such trouble attempting something a 13 year old could probably do with their eyes closed. But I managed to get it done, and went to bed feeling rather proud of myself.
And the next day?
Well, a funny thing happened.
MY HAIR WAS RED. Rather than attach to what was left of the gold, the dye brought out all my hidden natural strawberry highlights.
The other funny thing?
NO ONE NOTICED.
Well, not exactly. No one realized I had dyed my hair, but everyone knew SOMETHING was up. Classmates I barely knew and my professors were coming up to me and saying “you look fantastic”. Most didnt’ realize I had changed anything. Girls I was friends with complimented my hair saying “I wish I had such a beautiful natural color” (lol), but the prize goes to my boyfriends mother, who looked at me one day, cocked her head, crossed her arms, and said “you know… I never noticed how red your hair is”. I think my own mother my summed it up perfectly when she saw me for the first time a few weeks later: “You look more like yourself now than with your natural haircolor”.
It’s absolutely astonishing to me what a turnaround my life took after that, how much happier I was, how much more comfortable I felt in my own skin. It’s now a year later and a half later, and that $15 hair dye is part of my regular monthly budget. Recently, I waited a few extra weeks before re-applying, to let my natural hair grow out a few inches and see how I felt about it. I didn’t even recognize myself! I quickly discarded the idea of going natural and bought a fresh box in preparation for Saturday (see you all at the WIGI mixer in Philly!).
So there it is. From “good lord mother, have a little pride. Why do you want to be like one of those JAP bitches?” to “Hair dye changed my life”.
read into this what you will, as long as we were talking about hair color, I wanted to share this with you all. I guess little life lessons can come from anywhere.
Last month, my boss and I were meeting a prospective partner face to face for lunch. The sent us an email asking how he would recognize us at the restaurant.
My bosses response?
“Jenna’s a redhead”.
– Pixelchick out
I actually dig the Jay Leno chin attachment
When clone-stamping goes wrong
Born in the glacial depths of a grand and magnificent country known during a better time as the Soviet Union, M² possess an innate and delightful sense of youthful vivaciousness and vigor, the formidable strength of a thousand bulls and a mind so cunning and fast, it has had no rival since Socrates.
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