Several weeks ago, I had a bit of a harrowing experience modeling for Toni & Guy. As "Victorianna" from their new collection, I had violence done unto my "virgin" hair (aka hair with a lethal fear of color or damage after some rather reckless teenage experimentation with the perm, then the straight perm and some unfortunate experimentation with sun-in, ick). The stylists described it as such: "it's like someone took a Victorian color egg and smashed it on her head, resulting in an explosive liquification of Edwardian hues." Shudder. All the while, promising to take it back to its lovely, natural chestnut as soon as the show was over. On the spot, they threw my natural color back on, but given that some form of bleach had been secretly deployed to achieve that marigold without my knowledge or permission, my natural brown failed to change anything. "You'll have to book into the academy and go black if you want it covered," I was told. Tear, tear, tear.Three weeks, a thousand phone calls and much self-conscious shielding of the top of my head later, nothing had happened. And my other bookings, not to mention fellow Style Whisperer Delphine, were none too pleased about this.
So when my best friend from New York arrived and we jetted off to Rome, the first thing she said when we emerged into the Italian sunshine and a beam of light hit me squarely on the head, "B, I can see your halo." Dammit! I thought, it's written all over my face. So if at long last I had to face up to the reddish semi-grown out dissonant music, I certainly was not going to pay any one at Toni & Guy to do it, so I acquiesced and tucked into a hair dresser near the Piazza Navona to rectify the deed.
Little did I know that model is as model does, and as soon as I had relayed to them my horror story, they jumped on the chance to slash the price on the color, throw in a cut and eyebrow wax in exchange for a few shots for their website. Ti amo, Opera Parrucchieri. The thing was, they wanted to shoot me thoroughly enjoying a head massage at the rinsing basin, and modeling with your neck craned and twisted backwards 45 degrees and eyes shut is pretty damn awkward. But hey, I did enjoy a prolonged albeit slightly uncomfortable head massage.
Then the blow drier came out for faux wind effect, and I would have felt like a huge tool hamming it up had I not been utterly delighted with the results: a mostly even toned full on head of brown, natural brown hair.
So that evening, when I re-rendezvoused with my friend for dinner, I bowed down my uncovered head with pride an announced: "Baby, you CAN'T see my halo."
mmmm...s0oooo relaxed :)
J takes a turn behind the blower, wind machine, baby, wind machine
1 Whisper-backs:
i was addicted to your light
Post a Comment