It’s summer. It’s hot AF in San Francisco. I’ve spent 18 months working at getting in better shape. I’m feeling badass and recharged, having shed my imposter syndrome. And I’m totally sick of my hair.
I typically like my hair a shade darker than it is naturally, and I’ve got grays. So I—not super regularly—Madison Reed it dark. But I’m outside basically all the time. I walk everywhere, I run outside, I’m outside with my kids on the weekend. My hair just won’t stay dark. And I hate—HATE—this brassy red it keeps wanting to turn.
Like most things in my life right now, I’m going to stop beating my head against the same problem. I’m just gonna bleach my hair for the summer. I bleached it a few years ago and had all sorts of existential issues with it. I don’t self-identify as a blond at all. I always rooted for Veronica. It felt weird and alien and like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t.
Yeah, I don’t care this time around. My kids are in camp, my house is hot, and I’m just getting the bleach.
Today’s new questions on Chairman Mom: