The Nuances of Hair Color and Love

I thought I was done with hair stories, but as luck would have it, I have another one to tell.

My hair color changed again on Saturday. I told you I was a hair change junkie. It went back to a more red hue than the blondish golden reddish hue it had before. The nuances of color are very important in life, and in this story.

I had to keep looking at myself to decide whether or not I liked it. I’m pretty sure I do, but it called for additional opinions. I was feeling quite “new hair” perky after leaving the hair salon. My salon is close to Union Square in San Francisco so I get to walk by all the wonderful high-end shops like Dolce & Gabbana, Faragamo, Gucci, and Jessica McClintock to name a few. I’ve never actually been IN the stores; I just know their name and their window décor. I’m positive the money in my bank account couldn’t pay for one buckle on the purses they have slung over the mannequin’s skinny shoulder. I did, however, suggest to my stylist that I really liked the hairdo on one of the mannequins in the window of the shop next to the salon. Pretty interesting when the storefront mannequins have more style than you do. But this is, after all, San Francisco.

I stopped by Macy’s and decided to have my face made up with a new look by one of those wonderful cosmetic girls at the make up counter. It’s free. After you’ve left a hair salon in San Francisco you need to look for anything free of cost to offset the money you just shelled out for new hair color. Cosmetic girl suggested some colors that might look well with the “orange” in the highlights of my hair. Orange? Is she seriously color blind? Did I miss something? I sneak peaks in the mirror to validate my belief that my hair is not in any way, color, or form…orange.

When I got home I asked my husband what he thought. “Very nice,” he said after having me turn in a full circle, a ruse I suspect which makes it seem that he is contemplating my new look from every angle and giving me a completely honest opinion. I’m a sucker for this approach every time. “Is it in any way orange?” I asked. His eyebrows knit in concentration. “No, definitely not orange,” he said with conviction.

I checked with my son, Brett, next. I needed confirmation from a younger man’s point of view. He said he liked the color and denied seeing any orange. He said it was copper color, which as we all know, is no where close to orange. I’ve trained him well. When he gets married someday, I think his wife should thank me profusely.

This morning, in tribute to my new hairdo, I put on a new sweater. I really liked the sweater when I tried it on with my old hair color. But, as we all know, the nuances of color can make a once brilliant garment turn into a horribly clashing mistake. Although my husband was still asleep, I had no qualms waking him up for a color check. Some things take precedence over sleep.

He groggily and dutifully sat up. I handed him his glasses. He said he hadn’t ever realized that the color of a person’s hair and the color of their outfit was ever a concern. He has brown hair, which pretty much goes with anything. The sweater is a brown rose, not to be confused with a pink rose or mauve hue, which might not have gone as well with reddish hair. Color nuances again. I cannot stress this point enough.

He said my hair and the sweater looked fine together, and he had the good manners to remain sitting for awhile before falling back underneath the covers lest I think he was in a sleep stupor when he gave his opinion.

That’s love for you. Aren’t you amazed how I keep cleverly tying hair color and love together?