Bleach blonde hair pinterest photo

After talking with Ashley and once again showing her my old pictures (think Julianne Hough–level brightness), I felt confident as she began foiling and painting my hair. So three hours later, after being shampooed, toned, and returned to the chair, I was instantly frustrated. My hair looked dark. Yes, hair always looks darker when it’s wet, but I had been blonde for long enough that I knew what I should be seeing, and the ashy brown color I saw in the reflection was definitely off the mark.

Praying for some kind of miracle, I bit my tongue, pursed my lips, and waited patiently as Ashley began drying my hair. However, just as expected, the ashy color didn't budge. Without saying much, I got up, paid, and went out to my car, where I immediately burst into tears. Realizing that yet again, I had paid an arm and a leg for a color I pretty much hated (and was far from what I asked for), my disappointment began to turn to anger. Fearing damage, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get my color redone for at least a couple of months, and I was at a complete loss about what to do. Finally, I decided to go back up to the salon and talk to Ashley. I knew that not much could be done color-wise, since I had just undergone a three-hour process, but at the very least, I felt I deserved my money back—or something.

Upon seeing me back, Ashley immediately looked nervous and took me into a back room to talk. I told her I wasn’t happy with the color and pointed out how different it was than what I had asked for. Once again, I pulled out the pictures of my old hair and watched as Ashley studied them. After a few moments, she bluntly informed me the only way she could get me that blonde again would be by bleaching my entire head over all of the new highlights. When I asked if it would compromise the integrity of my hair, she reached out, grabbed a couple of strands, examined them, and replied, “Your bleach blonde hair pinterest photo hair can handle it.”

So against my better judgment—but in a completely desperate state—I agreed. Within the next half hour (yes, 30 minutes or less), Ashley applied a high-vol bleach over my entire head, sat me under the dryer, and rinsed me out. It wasn’t until I arrived back at her station that the panic and deep, deep regret began to slowly settle in. I stared at the dripping, tangled white rat’s nest on the top of my head and knew I had made a serious mistake. I held back tears as Ashley slowly tried to comb out my hair.

With even the slightest touch, chunks of bleached hair began to fall. Equally panicked, Ashley hurriedly instructed me to wait until my hair dried to finish brushing it out at home. I’m not kidding when I say that she quite literally pushed me out the door.



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