An Open Letter to My Hair.

Are you annoyed with me right now? I can never really tell. It’s funny because I’ve abused you in some of the worst ways possible, yet you never seem to give up on me. Although I’ve not been very impressed with you in the last week or so. You’ve become awfully knotty and you have terrible flyaways that catch my eye every time I look in the mirror. But I’m probably being unnecessarily cruel.

Let’s delve back into our tumultuous relationship together.

When I was a child, we were a good team. Do you remember all of those arguments we used to have with my parents because I wanted to grow you out and they insisted on you getting severely chopped? Those were tough times, but we got through it together.

When I grew up a bit and refused to go to the hairdressers, you were finally given time to flourish. You grew down to my shoulders and incidentally, I got into all of those natural beauty regimes. You were so happy, even when we would sit in the bathroom together, looking at the goo I had concocted that consisted of eggs, tea and other assorted kitchen items. I constantly doused you in homemade hair masks and you became sleek and glossy. We got so many compliments for those few months and I’m not sure we’ve ever gotten along better.

But alas, we were never meant to be friends and so, tensions soon began to arise between us.

When I finally convinced my Mam to let me get highlights, you sat back and let me experiment without kicking up too much of a fuss. I spent the Summer constantly playing around with different styles and fiddling with you. Then I did the unspeakable. I lifted a scissors to my fringe and chopped you into an awful style. I was young, I was foolish, I still blush whenever I see a picture of me at that time.

Suddenly the thing that I was so used to getting compliments on had become an eye sore. Instead of mourning what was once a glorious feature that sat upon my head, I turned to bleach. I got a full head of blonde, hoping it would distract from the fact that I was missing a fringe. I don’t really think it worked. This is where our problems began.

When I discovered blonde, I felt like I had stumbled upon a revolution. I loved nothing more than catching sight of the reflection of my blonde hair in windows or in the coffee machine at school. I adored taking pictures where my hair shone in the flash and provided me with amazing lighting. I loved to compare myself to the blonde characters on television and feel the satisfaction of feeling as though I resembled them. This was all very materialistic I know, but I was happy.

We stayed blonde for about a year, until Summer came along and I wanted to switch thing ups. I decided to dye you back brunette. I still have no idea why.

My hairdresser informed me that I couldn’t go back to brunette straight away. I had to go an odd reddish colour before I could attempt it. This was to prevent me from turning you green, something I really didn’t want to happen. I went to the red colour and that night I covered you in a cold mixture of tea and coffee and left you to soak it up. You were a chocolate brown colour by the next day and I’m not sure you ever looked shinier.

That Summer, I often did the tea treatments on you and I loved the results, but I knew I wasn’t meant to be brunette. I am most definitely more of a blonde at heart and so our transformation only lasted a few months.

When I returned to what must have been my now exhausted hairdresser to tell her my new decision, she urged me to get highlights instead of dying my hair fully blonde. We both agreed that this was the best course to take, until I got home and was still unsatisfied with the results (I know, I was an awful teenager).

I went out and bought a box dye against the advice of everyone and took matters into my own hands. You looked nice at first, but within two washes, you had gone a weird orange colour.

I don’t think I knew what a toner was at that time, so I went straight back to the shop and bought more bleach, putting you through immense torture (I’m sure). It was official, I was addicted to being blonde again.

I was probably well on my way to killing you with my huge lack of responsibility, but (thank god) I then discovered a wonderful product-coconut oil.  Coconut oil became my new obsession, and every time I applied it, you appeared to come to life even more.

You began to grow at an extraordinary pace and now I’m extremely happy with your appearance. People are constantly commenting on how crazy it is that you appear to have gotten so long out of nowhere and I have to agree. When I think back to that child who wanted nothing more than to have long hair, it always strikes me how  happy he’d be to see you now.

I’m sorry to say that I don’t intend to stop bleaching you anytime soon. I adore being blonde and I don’t think that’s going to change. However, I’m constantly learning more and more tips when it comes to caring for you and I’m hoping that you won’t be in such bad condition by this time next year (although I’m very grateful to say you don’t really look it).

I know that too much has probably happened for us to ever be friends, and I respect that. But I hope that someday we’ll feel at peace towards one another.


Watch how I bleach my hair below:


Read an open letter to my feet here.


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