I’ve spoken before about my fascination with the pink-haired girl. D’Arcy from The Smashing Pumpkins, Gwen Stefani, Charlotte Free and Grimes. It has always been a dream of mine to go full candy floss to escape the reality of my mousey brown locks, but I’m not a bass player in a grunge band, I’m a married, mum of two. I push a Bugaboo Bee, I drive a Vauxhall Zafira, I shop with Ocado. And although I’m a fairly cool graphic designer (I hope!) I’m 34, so I’m entering The Boden Years. I should be buying ‘knits that wash well’ and Breton shirts. I should have found my inner rock chick by now and cast her off long ago.
- I can no longer wear anything that vaguely resembles rave gear. Crazy leggings, plastic jewellery and backpacks have to go.
- I can’t blow-dry it dead straight. It looks like a wig and I feel like a bad Katy Perry strippergram.
- I can no longer wear red. Or orange. Or yellow. But I’m okay with that. I now wear a lot of black and surprisingly a lot of really plain clothes because my hair is crazy enough to avoid looking boring.
- I ditched my vintage glasses for fear of looking like the Brummie woman from the Hotels4U ad.
- The bleaching process has dried out my hair (although not as much as I thought it would) so I need to use a leave-in conditioner overnight once a fortnight.
- I have to dye it myself every two weeks, and go to the hairdresser to get my roots done every six weeks.
- I now wash my hair every four days to save the colour from fading too quickly. Dry shampoo is my new best friend.
- I now own a pink towel and pink pillow cases.