I’ve never really thought of myself as any particular age, honestly. After my brutal adolescent years, I did my own thing because I realized that no matter what I did, I’d still be criticized. So why not wear what I like?
Life’s too short to not wear what sparks joy, as Marie Kondo would say.
In just a few months, I’d be 45, and I attribute that to decent genes, staying out of the sun, working in medical spas (I’m familiar with needles, although I haven’t done any injectables in over a year), and doing my best not to lose or gain weight rapidly.
Speaking of that, I’ve been getting a lot more grays. In a rare sabbatical, I haven’t been bleaching the everlasting f*ck out of my hair. I usually do that at least once every 3 months to accommodate whatever shade of blue I’ve got going on.
I’ve retouched my regrowth with a hi-lift brown that’s almost a dark copper. It’ll be curious to see the color contrast once it grows out a bit more.
Super long hair or bust and I’m thrilled that I’ve finally found a stylist that gets me here in Portland. And he’s a full $25 more reasonable than what I was dealing with in Oakland.