Purple Haze

My new hair stylist, Jo, at Savage Beauty on Burgundy Street in the Bywater, is a great colorist. So the second time I went to her, I told her I wanted to do something new.

Thought born blonde, I think my hair's natural color reverted to a mousy brown when I was in my thirties. I began coloring my hair in my forties, and because I lived in Los Angeles, a place with high standards for artificial beauty, I was lucky to have had some great stylists coloring my hair (Thanks, Tina!!!) and prolonging my personal mythology as a Blonde.

But now I'm up for changes, here in New Orleans. Jo went through her swatch book, and held samples up to see how they looked with my skin and eyes. And she came up with the idea of going to a kind of cool-violet version of brown, in highlights and lowlights.

And then I said, well, I was thinking maybe of also having a vivid color, too.

How about purple? she asked.

When she was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. It looked like I was standing in the light thrown by a stained-glass window - my hair dappled with overlays of vivid color that shift, fade, and deepen, depending on the cast of the light.

It's pretty cool, I think.

It's hard to get a good photo. Sometimes it's strikingly apparent, sometimes you can hardly tell. It looks best in bright or harsh light; the sun or maybe LEDs. The house we live in has shitty mirrors, and shitty lighting around the shitty mirrors. So I find myself seeking affirmation in my car's rear-view mirror, in store windowpanes, and in restaurant bathrooms.

It looks pretty good.

It goes with my new boots, too.