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Hair We Go!
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Misty's own
hair fetish and life of hair dye
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| Written
By:
Misty |
Added
On:
14/10/07 |
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Red.
Blonde. Black. Brown.
....Blue?
Purple? Pink?
It comes
in all different colours, lengths and styles, but some
of us have more of a fondness for hair than others. I'm
one of those people who enjoys spotting beautiful women
with unusual hair styles and colours. But my hair fetish
extends to messing about with my own hair. Here's the
story of my own hair adventures. |
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In the
Beginning... Long Hair |
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When I was very young I wanted long hair.
I wanted the longest hair on the planet. My
mother had mid-length hair that she always
wore with flick-ups and I had always loved
it. But she has very different hair to mine
- hers is fair and thin while mine is dark
and as thick as it comes. I take after my
dad with my hair - his is so thick that
he'll never get so much as a hint of a bald
patch and it's jet black. I've no idea where
the jet black hair comes from – no one else
in the family shares this trait - but that's
what I inherited.
When I was a kid I wanted to grow my hair
forever. I actually thought for quite some
time that it was illegal for girls to have
short hair (I've no idea why). As I got
older I began to feel more and more that I
didn’t look very feminine and felt I could
never have short hair anyway or I
would look like a boy.
It grew so long that I could sit on it. But
as time went on that became yet another
thing for the other children at school to
pick on. I must have been 12 when a bizarre,
annual ‘Fancy Dress’ day at school came
around yet again and I had decided to go as
a maid. I had a great costume with a blue
feather duster. The night before, I told my
mother I wanted to do something different
with my hair and she said she would scrunch
it for me, but my hair was so long and so
thick that as soon as she put the mousse
into my hair it just disappeared into it and
dried up. I felt awful. I cried my eyes out.
That's when I just snapped and told my
mother to cut my hair, to just above
shoulder-length.
She cut my hair later that
night and when I looked in the mirror I
couldn’t believe what I saw. It changed my
whole face. I looked older, better –
happier, even. The next day I went into
school feeling a hundred times better than I
ever had before - and I won the damn fancy
dress competition too!
Over the coming weeks I had it cut it a
little shorter and a little shorter until it
was about jaw length. At about that time my
mum made the decision to have her hair cut
much shorter and when she came back from the
hairdresser I took one look at her hair and
loved it. The short hair really suited her
and I realized how much I wanted to have
hair like that, too. I begged her to let me
and a week later she took me to the
hairdresser's.
I had all my hair cut off. My hair was now
very short indeed. Initially I loved it,
until I started a new school and the
bullying started all over again, this time
about my hair being too short. I got a lot
of spiteful comments about looking like a
boy. Under pressure from the kids who quite
literally kicked my ass, I grew my hair
again |
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Discovering Dye |
It was November 1993 when I realized how
depressed I was with my near-black hair.
With my porcelain-white skin I looked like
something out of the Adams Family. Nervously
I pulled together all my courage and asked
my mother if I could dye my hair. I fully
expected her to refuse and give me a lecture
about how I couldn't do that until I was at
least thirty-five, but she surprised me.
"Of course you can," she said,
"What colour would you like to do? Shall we
buy some at the weekend?"
I was astounded by her reaction and two days
later I bought two different red dyes.
However, my hair was so dark and the dyes
were so short-lasting that they didn't even
show up and I plunged into hair-depression
again.
Then my mum bought me purple hair dye.
I was thirteen years old when I saw the
first glimpse of the real me. The real me
just happened to need purple hair. The dye
was temporary but the effect it had on me
was permanent. The whispers behind my back
when I returned to school after the holidays
had changed. They were no longer about the
quiet, freaky girl. They were about the girl
who had purple hair.
After I had gone purple I was never without
a colour on my hair. It wasn't until I was
15 that I discovered the joys of bleach
though. Having near-black hair people had
always told me, "You can never go
blonde." Want a bet?? On a warm April
day, after doing some fast talking to
convince the hairdresser, to do it I had
highlights put in. I went in the salon with
long, black hair and came out with blonde
hair, up to my jaw.
I found it somewhat scary that on the way
home I got two wolf-whistles and one
car-horn beep. How could changing the colour
of hair make that much of a difference? I
had never had any attention before. I hated
it, and considered for a moment dying my
hair dark again but when I looked in the
mirror the colour had changed my face
completely and I liked it. I didn't look
freaky any more. Something still felt wrong
though - I felt as though despite my last
experience with short hair, that was what I
needed. A month or so later a heat-wave hit
the UK and I let the hot weather make my
decision for me. My mother cut my hair short
once again and for the first time I had my
trademark look - the short, blonde hair that
I find a familiar comfort. |
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Feeling
Blue... |
It wasn't until I left school that I really
found my feet. After I finished my exams I
dyed my hair bright red. Postbox red.
Over the next couple of years I experimented
with different hair colours and styles, but
nothing more extravagant than tones of
blonde or red. I always wanted to explore
more colours though and wished I was brave
enough to go for something really
outrageous. As my acceptance of my sexuality
grew I came to realize that hair was the
first thing I usually noticed on a woman,
but never questioned the significance .I’d
always found girls with unusual hair colours
so attractive and longed to be that bold.
I was 18 when I finally found some
confidence. The first thing I did was to go
very white blonde. Prior to that I’d always
had darker blondes. My influence was the
80s - I had always wished that I’d been
a teenager in the 80s. I always felt I’d
been born a decade too late. I decided
instead to bring a bit of the 80s into my
teens. I had a couple of snidey comments
about it but somehow they didn’t bother me
because finally I looked the way I felt
inside.
After that, my hair was like a blank canvas.
It was as pale as it was ever going to get
so I put bright red on it, then purple, and
then one day my mother told me excitedly
that she’d found a blue hairdye.
That was one step too far for me. I thought
blue was a little too bold. I had never seen
someone walking down the street with blue
hair. With my lack of confidence how could I
ever get away with making such a bold
statement? Somehow though I couldn’t get the
thought of it out of my head and after a
week or so I bought some.
Looking at my reflection with blue hair was
a real shock. It wasn’t so much the blue but
the fact that it was the darkest my hair had
been in years. I suddenly began to panic
about the reaction I’d get from people on
the street and at college, having these
awful pre-conceived images of people giving
me dirty looks, staying well out of my way
and muttering, “Well I never!” as
they passed me by.
The reality was as far to the other extreme
as I could have imagined. The reaction I
received was amazing. I’d never been paid
compliments before but suddenly people were
telling me how much they liked my hair. I
would be stopped on the street by complete
strangers who wanted to touch it or who told
me how striking it looked. One mature
student at college said something that has
stayed with me ever since. She said my hair
was ‘bird-like’ - like the feathers on a
tropical bird.
Eventually the blue started to wash out,
then I had it all cut very short again until
the original bleach was all gone and my hair
was a blank canvas of a different kind -
natural. I hated it. Seeing myself with
dark, dull hair again made me depressed so I
immediately lightened it again and ended up
using purple and blue for an unusual mix. I
had it green that Christmas and blonde for
the new millennium.
Shortly into the year 2000 I met Hudson. I
wasn’t sure what he would make of my
constant hair-metamorphosis, or for that
matter the length at which I usually keep my
hair. To my relief he told me he had always
been fascinated by unusual hair colours.
In the seven and a half years since we first
met, Hudson has seen me rotate my way
through every colour imaginable, several
times over. When Hudson and I got married
last year I dyed my hair white blonde
and purple – the two colours I use
the most.
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Why Dye? |
People have asked me over the years why I
‘feel the need’ to keep dying my hair
and whether it’s because of some kind of
deep-rooted psychological issue. After much
consideration I can honestly say, no. The
reason I dye my hair different colours is
because I'm an artist. I love to create, to
decorate, to make things colourful and as
beautiful as I can. Why not use the canvas
provided to me at birth? My body, my skin
and my hair are all there for me to use in
the same way as I would a canvas or a
sketchbook.
It’s taken me a long time to feel this
confident in myself to express my creativity
through my appearance so strongly. Now I
also have tattoos and piercings which
make me feel beautiful in ways that I never
would have done otherwise. But most
important to me is my hair.
Blue hair provokes the biggest reaction of
all. When I walk down the street people stop
me to tell me how fantastic they think it
is. They don’t mean the actual colour - they
mean the fact that I dyed it blue at all.
Blue hair, pink hair, purple hair... it’s
not about confidence. It’s about looking in
the mirror and seeing the way you feel
inside. |
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Cutting
Remarks! |
I had always looked out for unusual colours
and styles on others, and had developed a
real love for short-haired women - a passion
both Hudson and I share. When we began
reviewing porn sites I would always look out
for models with unusual hair but assumed it
was part of the Gothic/Punk fetish
that I’ve always been aware that I had.
It wasn’t until I reviewed
Bald Girlz
just after we launched that I came to
realise my hair fetish was actually a
different thing all together. Many of the
models on the site had no punk or gothic
traits but still had radical hairstyles,
short hair or shaven heads. A slow
realisation came to me (I generally am quite
slow anyway!!) that my hair fetish was
totally separate; it’s just that the two
genres have quite a cross-over between them.
In terms of colouring my hair there was
nothing that I hadn’t done before. I’d had
every colour so many times that I could
almost hear my hair complaining, “Oh no,
not purple again!” As far as styles
went, however, I had always been slightly
restricted. I’d had short hair pretty much
for the last ten years or so, but there was
a certain length I’d never dared go under.
My inherent fear of being too masculine had
never left me and I’d always stopped short
(no pun intended) of getting the cut I’d
wanted.
I think sites like Bald Girlz gave me
the confidence to take the plunge. That, and
getting a pair of clippers. I’d bought the
clippers to cut Hudson’s hair after a stupid
barber had basically not cut any of his hair
off (reminding us of a certain Monty
Python sketch!) and charged him ten quid
for the privilege. It seemed easier (and
more fun) to cut it for him myself.
I gradually turned the clippers onto my own
head to cut the back and sides far shorter
than I’d ever dared before. I worked my way
up to the top, feeling clumps of hair fall
around my shoulders. My hands were shaking –
what if it went wrong? What if I looked
awful? But there was no going back.
Half an hour later I sat in the middle of a
pile of hair and stared at myself in the
mirror. Far shorter than I had ever seen it
before, the hair I saw my reflection wearing
was just how I had longed to wear it for
years. I didn’t look like a boy. It didn’t
look awful. Just like my first experience
with purple dye, I looked in the mirror and
saw the real me looking back. Short, spiky
and currently maroon, I (finally!) couldn’t
be happier with my hair!
Well… maybe if it was just a little shorter…
Have those clippers finished recharging
yet??
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