Fire

When I dyed my hair for the first time I wanted it to be striking. I loved it and it was pretty but it was basically an enhancement of my natural color. Even my mom didn’t notice a difference. I got together with my family a few days afterward and the one who said something? My brother-in-law. Then my mom and sister were all “Oh yeah, it does look different.”

Not the reaction I was looking for.

So this time I told my stylist I wanted something drastic. I wanted red. I wanted people to notice.

Mission accomplished

The cut is pretty hot too, don’t you think?

Or at least that’s what I was told my way too many people.*

I have never felt so beautiful in my life.

I could tell it was a little much for some people. That’s ok. I’m a little much for some people. But for the most part all I heard was how gorgeous it looks.

I never get called “gorgeous.” I get “cute.”

Have I talked about levels of attractive before? Well, in my mind there are levels. It’s not an exact science and, depending on who is saying it and in what context, they can move around but basically there’s:

Nice, cute, pretty, adorable etc. Then, there’s hot, beautiful, sexy and gorgeous.

In my mind calling someone gorgeous is one of the highest levels.

Cute? One of the very lowest. It’s something you’d call a puppy or a toddler. It’s definitely a compliment and I’d rather be cute than ugly. But gorgeous? Something I never saw myself as and definitely never thought others saw me that way.

But, gorgeous or not I think this color suits me. It’s fiery, as am I. I don’t want to blend into a crowd. With this hair I can’t help but stand out. It’s a statement about who and what I am. I’m not just another boring, average person.

I’m me.

And with this hair? I’m just a little more fabulous.

*I say too many because holy ego boost. It’s going to go to my head if I’m not careful.