This is a story about ombre.
One Friday back in late September, I wanted to get it done, in the style of Rashida Jones (http://aminamichele.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/rashidajones-hollywoodringer.com_.jpg) or Alexa Chung (http://www.voodou.co.uk/files/2011/02/Alexa-Chung-Ombre-hair.jpg).
I didn't care that I was about a year and a half late to this strange trend of paying well over a hundred bucks at a salon to simulate a look that happens if you bleach your hair, surf all summer, and then let your roots grow out past the point of looking like you just need to redo your roots.
And I wanted to get it done that day.
There were so many obstacles to achieving this goal, chiefly:
(a) The fact that I still had very short hair with already damaged tips.
(b) I am an Asian American with black hair, which loves to turn brassy in response to any coloring chemicals.
(c) This is New York City, where you can rarely find a walk-in or same day appointment at any salon worth its salt.
(d) The window of time that I was able to visit a salon was pretty small; 3 hours between the time that I got out of work and the time that I would drive up to New England with my boyfriend for the weekend.
I already knew what I was dealing with, but when I called another salon that I value for their unmatched hair cutting precision, they interrogated me for about twenty minutes while I cringed, whispering, at my work desk, then told me that a pre-interview appointment was required, after which maybe they'd be able to approve my hair for the process, which would likely be a multiple procedure (with cumulative costs) in order to do it right.
This might be the way to go for celebrities, but for little old me, sometimes you just want to say fuckit, just do it, and who cares about the damage because hair grows!
Of course, I also didn't want to blindly walk in somewhere and get my hair botched up when I could do that for a fifteenth of the price out of a box from the nearest Duane Reade.
After much angsting and little to go on other than solid Yelp reviews and the website (http://hollywoodsalon-nyc.com/), I called up Hollywood Salon and made an appointment with the man who answered.
Thanks to the far eastern 2nd Avenue location, I was a bit late and had to wait much, much longer to get shampooed then seated, but I figured this was my fault.
The stylist seemed uncertain about the process (or about my hair in general), but I fought against my hair trigger reaction to run for the hills and let her paint the elixir on my tips and wrap them in foil. I looked like Medusa, and felt like Medusa when they put me under one of those heated drying helmets. At one point I felt like my brain was literally cooking, so they gave me a break, but then shoved me back under there for what felt like forever, saying that heat was a necessary part of activating the chemicals. Knowing this was true, I endured.
The worst part was when the stylist unwrapped one foil packet and showed my hair to another stylist. They seemed worried and spoke in another language for a while. Eyes darting, I shrieked, "What's wrong??" and they were like "No, no, nothing."
I started feeling sick, then angry, then stupid, then sad, then stupid, then angry...
But the end of this story is that when my hair was unwrapped, rinsed, then blown out and I dared to open my eyes...I was met with perfection. I got lucky with this one, folks, so let me spare everyone the gamble and say that if you want to try ombre (especially not coward's ombre, which is too subtle to even show), then this is a suitable place to do it in one shot on the day that you decide to do it...even if you have black roots and chlorine fried tips...for $130 and change.
Thanks, Hollywood! After a few months and a lot of growing out, I still feel like a million bucks! read more