A couple weeks ago, I finally took the beauty leap I had been contemplating for several months. I had super untouched hair. When I went into the salon, the hair stylist asked me about my hair routine and burst out laughing when I admitted I hadn’t *really* combed my hair in about…three months?
I had read up on the process of dying virgin black hair platinum, of course. A couple of bloggers mentioned terrifying side-effects along the way to those sweet, sweet unicorn tresses: scalp blisters from the bleach, for one thing. My hair stylist was horrified by this and assured me that there was no reason on earth anyone’s scalp should be burned, even going from raven black to blinding white. So if your stylist tells you otherwise, run away.
The entire process took about six hours: first a round of bleach on the main length of my hair, then a round of bleach on the roots (the roots process faster because of the heat). My bleach had been mixed with Olaplex, a protein re-bonder that’s been recently developed for bleaching hair. Even though this costs extra, I’d highly recommend it—my ends felt just as strong after bleaching as before, which was unexpected. And let’s face it, you never thought this process was going to be cheap, did you?
These first rounds of bleach turned my hair a very unappetizing shade of strawberry-orange-red. Another round of bleach took it to a very brassy, but quite light, blonde. (Every head of hair has an underlying tinge, my stylist told me. Unfortunately, yours is….orange.) Then he put a semi-permanent purplish-blue dye to cancel out the orange. Finally (for that day), another round of olaplex to strengthen the strands. And voila, I was blonde. It was a great feeling, going through such a big change. But it was a lot yellower than I wanted it, still—though I was told that to go through such a huge color change in one session, without foils, without damage, was already pretty amazing.
I went in for another session a couple days ago, resulting in the pure white locks I’d wanted. Word to the wise: bring snacks to the salon. That first time, not really knowing what I was in for, I went empty-handed. After four hours of sitting still I was ready to pass out. Luckily, the market next door was entirely used to salon clients running, hair caps and salon ponchos flapping, to get chips.