I can’t control my life but I can control the colour of my hair

My mother started going grey in her early twenties, shortly after I was born. Hair dye was as much part of my childhood as playing in the sandbox or the ubiquitous smell of cigarette smoke. I was 14 when we first coloured my hair a dark red and it alternated through varying brunette and auburn shades for the following five years. It became a peculiar bonding ritual; my mother and I, later my sister too, would gather in the downstairs bathroom with the stained tub and the too-loud fan to dye eachother’s hair.

It wasn’t until I was 19 and I had a friend going to school for hairstylist that I ventured out of my comfort zone. I was her final project and she wanted to leave an impression. She dyed my hair black with strong, sharp lines for a very dramatic look. Unfortunately, Ive never been one to spend much time on my hair and a salon-polished look was not one that I was interested in maintaining. So I shaved my head. It was wonderful.

A series of unexpected events lead to my working in the construction industry. Not only do I like my job, this also meant the elimination of a dress code. I went from dress pants and heels to jeans and workboots. Nobody cares what colour your hair is when…