Ladies (I’m being sexist here and assuming it’s mostly women who can relate to this one), do you ever feel an irrational sense of betrayal when your preferred brand of hair dye changes their packaging, or is it just me?
Okay, so I hate change in general when it comes to beauty products (but I didn’t ask for “new and improved” foundation, people, I liked the old one just fine the way it was thankyouveryfuckingmuch), but hair dye is, in my opinion, the worst offender.
Maybe it’s because I suck at noting down the precise code name and secret identity of my latest choice in boxed tress transformation that this riles me up so much. Did I last dye my hair with “medium reddish brown” or “radiant auburn”? Color number C53 or AK47?
Fuck if I know.
So when I get to the drugstore, what do I do? Why, I search for a familiar face, of course. I’m far better at remembering the model on the box than the written details of the hair hue she’s sporting. She’s my coif cousin. My shade sister. She gets me.
At least, she does until the cruel bastards at L’Oréal or Garnier or Clairol get it into their head that their packaging needs an update, and replace my pigment pal with some new tramp who apparently thinks she can just step in and take my bff’s place.
I DON’T THINK SO, MISSY.
You think you can just bump Sarah* off and waltz onto my dye box with those hipster bangs and resting bitch face, and I’m supposed to pretend we’re cool and play along? HUH?
Fuck that noise.
You just watch yourself.
*Naturally I have no way of knowing what my hair bff’s real name actually was, so I just named her Sarah.