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and I remember you
May. 15th, 2007 09:14 amI first dyed my hair when I was fifteen and spending the summer at Yale. I wanted to be a goth. I had always wanted to be a goth. And so with my blunt bob and bangs and a box of Nice 'n' Easy, I became a goth. I didn't have any of the right clothes, but there was this weird little red and black pin-stripped short and top set my mom had bought me, and with black tights under it, dark lipstick on me and a pair of really pointy-toed buckle boots I bought for $88 I made a good stab at it. And dated my first grad student, who later left me for a boy, much to the amusement of the two girls in my writing class he left for me. It's amazing what can happen in five weeks.
My parents were non-plussed about it all, of course, but drama never really ensued until it was time to do touch-ups in their bathroom. Somehow though, the matter of my hair color was not a big battle, probably because they were more worried about radiation from the color TV and the smoke alarm. My mother, ever since those days almost 20 years ago, periodically confesses a secret desire to dye her hair, but "Daddy will be annoyed." I offer to do it for her, find a temporary black with some good purple tints in it, but she always shakes her head and talks herself out of it.
In my life, my hair has been a lot of colors. Mostly natural or black. I like high contrast on me, but I am also lazy. So I was platinum blonde once or twice, and rose red (and I was Rose Red on IRC for years) and so forth and so on, but I always came back to black.
The problem with black hair dye, of course, is how flat it looks. And on me it should look pretty natural, as my eyebrows are thick and jet black, but it's all about finding the right tone, and finding one that fades instead of growing out (like Feria) leaving a trashy line across your head.
After Mother closed, after I stopped being a sci-fi S&M latex-wearing goddess, I stopped dying my hair. I had sort of been slowing down for a while anyway 'cause it seemed scary, dangerous -- there were all these studies about how women who used darker color hair dyes have a higher incidence of breast cancers.
And then there was Harry Potter and Severus Snape. I cosplay Snape because it's easy, which should in no way be taken as a lack of enthusiasm -- after all, Hermione would be easy for mt too. Hell, I've had that damn Snape haircut most of my life, although it's been both much shorter and much longer. I mostly haven't worried about the color, just put lots of product in which darkened it enough, I felt.
This time though, despite hair well past my shoulders and my perfect little gentleman's ponytail, grey I like, and no desire to deal with the hassles of coloring, I decided to cut and dye it. This is, after all, the last time.
Sure, there will be other conferences and the other movie releases, but I believe everyting has already happened, both to fictional characters and us non-fictional folk and in a few months as far as the HP universe is concerned, we'll all know what. It'll be different then. The fandom may or may not be smaller, the interest in the movies may or may not loose steam, and I may or may not have been wrong about everything I've ever said about Severus Snape. None of that's the point. The point is that this is the last time I can do this in quite this way, in memory of people who never were and in memory of me.
I expected it to be a big deal, cutting my own hair. Difficult or heavy. I've rarely cut my hair symbollically, it's generally been more a mood of "hey, I don't want to do something onerous, I'll go get a haircut instead" although last summer I did show up at Kat's house and tell her to chop my hair off, and in my mind she did it with a knife and threw it in the fire, as opposed to with an orange-handled scissors in her bathroom. No matter, I thought the curls in my hand would mean something, have weight. I was merely fascinated instead by the grey and thought it was a shame no one puts curls in lockets anymore, but then no one quite sails across the sea in the same way anymore either.
So I cut my hair myself and didn't botch it. Dyed it, which is never romantic, and stepped out of the shower. The hue on this one is just right, so much better than that first dye used in New Haven (Blue Black! staple of goths everywhere). I ducked my head - it's funny how I can be coy with myself - and smiled.
I remember you.
My parents were non-plussed about it all, of course, but drama never really ensued until it was time to do touch-ups in their bathroom. Somehow though, the matter of my hair color was not a big battle, probably because they were more worried about radiation from the color TV and the smoke alarm. My mother, ever since those days almost 20 years ago, periodically confesses a secret desire to dye her hair, but "Daddy will be annoyed." I offer to do it for her, find a temporary black with some good purple tints in it, but she always shakes her head and talks herself out of it.
In my life, my hair has been a lot of colors. Mostly natural or black. I like high contrast on me, but I am also lazy. So I was platinum blonde once or twice, and rose red (and I was Rose Red on IRC for years) and so forth and so on, but I always came back to black.
The problem with black hair dye, of course, is how flat it looks. And on me it should look pretty natural, as my eyebrows are thick and jet black, but it's all about finding the right tone, and finding one that fades instead of growing out (like Feria) leaving a trashy line across your head.
After Mother closed, after I stopped being a sci-fi S&M latex-wearing goddess, I stopped dying my hair. I had sort of been slowing down for a while anyway 'cause it seemed scary, dangerous -- there were all these studies about how women who used darker color hair dyes have a higher incidence of breast cancers.
And then there was Harry Potter and Severus Snape. I cosplay Snape because it's easy, which should in no way be taken as a lack of enthusiasm -- after all, Hermione would be easy for mt too. Hell, I've had that damn Snape haircut most of my life, although it's been both much shorter and much longer. I mostly haven't worried about the color, just put lots of product in which darkened it enough, I felt.
This time though, despite hair well past my shoulders and my perfect little gentleman's ponytail, grey I like, and no desire to deal with the hassles of coloring, I decided to cut and dye it. This is, after all, the last time.
Sure, there will be other conferences and the other movie releases, but I believe everyting has already happened, both to fictional characters and us non-fictional folk and in a few months as far as the HP universe is concerned, we'll all know what. It'll be different then. The fandom may or may not be smaller, the interest in the movies may or may not loose steam, and I may or may not have been wrong about everything I've ever said about Severus Snape. None of that's the point. The point is that this is the last time I can do this in quite this way, in memory of people who never were and in memory of me.
I expected it to be a big deal, cutting my own hair. Difficult or heavy. I've rarely cut my hair symbollically, it's generally been more a mood of "hey, I don't want to do something onerous, I'll go get a haircut instead" although last summer I did show up at Kat's house and tell her to chop my hair off, and in my mind she did it with a knife and threw it in the fire, as opposed to with an orange-handled scissors in her bathroom. No matter, I thought the curls in my hand would mean something, have weight. I was merely fascinated instead by the grey and thought it was a shame no one puts curls in lockets anymore, but then no one quite sails across the sea in the same way anymore either.
So I cut my hair myself and didn't botch it. Dyed it, which is never romantic, and stepped out of the shower. The hue on this one is just right, so much better than that first dye used in New Haven (Blue Black! staple of goths everywhere). I ducked my head - it's funny how I can be coy with myself - and smiled.
I remember you.
