How to Home Dye Your Hair...An Honest Guide

I've been dying my hair for a lot of years now, but I style can't really get my head around it (ha!  See what I did there? HEAD?! Ahem, I'll get my coat...)

Ah, my newly dyed bonce!

I would love to be able to afford to go to the hairdressers every time some roots started to appear, but unfortunately, due to my fear of hairdressers, plus the fact that I'm really not into paying an extortionate amount of money every 6-8 weeks on my hair, when I could be spending it on, well, stuff I need, well, home-dye it is.

Here is my (somewhat tongue in cheek) guide to home-dying your hair.

1. Notice a grey hair poking through your parting one day.

Pluck it.  Watch over the next day and a half that at least 5 more have appeared in it's place. Pluck them.  Watch as 25 more grow.

Ad infinitum.

Try to tell yourself that you're not that grey really.  Catch yourself in the mirror a few times and wince at the grey bits around your temples.

Ask a colleague if they think you're grey, and watch as they tactfully try to say you are not, but you can tell by their lying eyes that you damn well are.

Spend copious amounts of time in the bathroom rippling your hair and watching as each grey glimmers in the dim light of the staffroom toilets.

2.   Resolve to dye your hair.

Think about what shade you fancy going this time.

Have daydreams of all kinds of fanciful shades, like Plum Power and Amber Nights.

Go to the shop and stand in front of a wall of hair dye for half an hour and try to work out the difference between Honey Honey and Honey Sun.

Go home, clueless and tell yourself it's not that bad really.

3. Arrive back in front of confusing dye wall a day later after your husband has told you that you haven't rubbed the dry shampoo into your hair properly and you angrily tell him 'it's NOT dry shampoo'.

Close eyes and make a circling motion with finger, pointing to a box and plucking it off the shelf, muttering 'fuck it, fuck it, this'll do', as you head to the wine aisle to buy strong wine.

4. Rest the box of dye on your bathroom shelf for approximately two weeks.  Look at it every time you go to the loo.

Read instructions half-assedly while sitting on the toilet catching a break from the sprogs.

Realise that it takes more effort than you thought and resolve to do it on a day when you get peace from the kids; who gets about 3/4 of an hour where they don't have to do something crazy? Hold off for the elusive day.

5.  Realise one Sunday morning that the only time you get to dye hair is on a Sunday morning when you've snuck into the bathroom in your pyjamas for a bath.

You think, 'yeah, this is perfect actually - I'll have a soak and my hair will have a soak too, then I'll just get dressed.

 It's just another bit added to the routine.  Easy!' This genius idea stops you having to avoid bumping into things with huge dye head, like some kind of walking permanent ink pen. Great idea!

6.  Open box.  Glance over instructions again (not too hard though - remember you've already 'read' them) while you mix the two chemicals together in the bottle to make up the dye.

There's no going back now; that one sentence you definitely read said that it must be used IMMEDIATELY.

Put on the terrible oversized comedy plastic gloves and push the tip off the nozzle.

It begins.

7.  Start by using the nozzle to squeeze the non-drip formula around your hairline, telling yourself this is best practice to avoid forehead colouring.

Source: ifunny

Swear a bit as non-drip formula drips somehow onto the floor.  It's okay, you have time - concentrate on the job at hand.

8. Worry about the line you've drawn around your head that might make you look like you've got  wig on. Start rubbing it with the oversized fingers.

Curse a bit as oversized fingers mean you get some on your forehead and above your eyebrows.  And nose.
It's okay - you have time before it stains properly.  30 mins for it to develop, you have ages!  You'll be done in a few - don't lose sight of the final job in hand.  You've started, so you'll finish.

9.  Realise that you got some stuff on the tips of your ears.

  Decide to get baby wipe to counter the mess - you've heard good things about baby wipes saving the day.  Only problem is, you've forgotten the baby wipes.  And you've locked the door. never mind, it's okay.  Wet toilet roll is the same, right?

10.  Oversized gloves are now covered in little flecks of stained toilet roll, as are forehead and tips of ears.

 It's okay, simply shake oversized glove over the sink to get the bits off - you can mop it up later; sinks are porcelein and don't stain (much).  Concentrate on trying to do back of head and try to imagine where your hairline is at the back.   Feel around in oversized gloves and hope for the best while dabbing globs of dye where you think is best.

11. Check dye bottle to see how much dye is left.

  Panic because there's not as much as you thought.  Start shaking bottle vigorously into palm and squeezing it out.  Watch as nondrip formula drips absolutely everywhere; thank goodness you are wearing an old pyjama top.  Mush dye into hair and pile hair up onto top of head and think about how much you look like Wilma Flintstone.

 Wonder why the dye looks black when you are really very sure it should be red.  Hope it changes with time.  Now for the bath.

12. Realise that you should have probably done the hair dye while topless to avoid this bit. 

 Stretch the collar of pyjama top as wide as it will go to stretch around hair.  Totally don't stretch it far enough and end up catching precariously bundled hair as you lift it over head.  Watch as hair slaps down onto your shoulders/face causing little dye marks which you furiously spend the next the next 5 minutes wiping off with toilet roll.

13. De-Glove.  Put gloves in box. 

 Congratulate yourself on being nice and tidy.  Look at rest of bathroom and resolve to clean it after bath.  Get into bath.  Realise that it's impossible to relax, as you can't put head back, lest hair bundle falls onto shoulders or face.  Sit rigidly in bath. Remember you need to wait 30 mins.  Or was it?   Instruction leaflet is in the box under the gloves. Oh well...

14. After waiting what you feel has been the allotted amount of time (and swearing to bring a watch next time), and performed, handily, all of the other tasks, like washing and shaving legs, now decide it's time to wash out the dye. 

 But how?  The answer looks so obvious, as you look at the bath water around you.  You won't get dye all over you if you wash your hair in the bath. Right?

15.  Realise that dunking dyed hair in the bath while you are still in it is a very terrible, bad idea as you sit up and realise that not only is there deep red water everywhere, but your boobs have red tide marks.

Source: Getty Images

Panic, fearing you are to be stained red for the next 8 weeks and jump out of the bath, hair only partially rinsed and thus still full of dye. Drain bath and turn on shower.
Oh god, this was a terrible idea, you think, as you look at the red drips all over the lovely light blue bath mat.

16. Hose down the bath and get in the tub again and hose yourself while bending completely over and trying to avoid dye getting in your eyes.

Get it in your eyes anyway and blindly feel around for the shower head.  Stand like this for approximately three hours as you wait for the red to just stop running from your hair.

17. Get out of the tub like a traumatised war hero.

  Witness the devastation around you. Hear your neglected children screaming from the bowels of the house beyond the bathroom door.
Look in the mirror and squint your eyes at the outcome.

It looks okay.

Good job, soldier, good job.

18.  Realise that you've missed a bit.  And you have red ears. And a red blotch on your forehead.  And red fingers. And you might have stained the shower curtain.

It's okay.  You have at least 8 weeks before you can begin this whole process again...

Fifty Shades of Commercialised Hype, and you're all falling for it

I work in a library, and yes I did notice the popularity of the Fifty Shades series.

As part of the fabulous service that you can expect to receive at our library, you can put your name down to reserve a book when it becomes available, and in some cases even order it in to be reserved.

Needless to say, many folk put their names against this title, the books being hastily passed from one reader to the next, usually not even hitting the shelf before ending up back on the reserved pile.  It was crazy. People were phoning and asking about it, wondering when it would be their turn.

The audience? Well, mainly older ladies who use the service anyway and were curious to see what all the fuss was about.  Many, and I mean many, handed the first book back with a groan, pushing it over the desk and mumbling something about 'what a load of rubbish', or 'too far-fetched'.

'I'll stick to the Mills & Boon,' one lady giggled, 'it's a much better read!  That one was terrible, the grammar was awful!'

Some carried on to read the trilogy, remembering to pick up the second or third book, but very noticeably, there are now a lot of half-thumbed through second and third books of the series on the shelves compared to the few battered and well-read first books that were actually returned and didn't actually just end up under someone's bed, never to come back tot he library again.

I suppose, for those who read, Fifty Shades just didn't really hit the mark. They were much more inclined to pick up a dark classic or some of the other romance fiction (of which there are many, in various shapes and forms) to tickle their tastebuds.  The verdict seemed to be that Fifty Shades was just another well-publicised, over-hyped fad. The various comments about it ranged from "poorly-written", to "fifty shades of crap!

Curiosity did get the better of me, and I had a look at one of the reserved books one day, thumbing through one on my lunch break. I wasn't shocked, or even remotely perturbed - I'd spent time working in a high street sex shop which had worse things on the shelf than this.  Just picking out random bits of text turned me right off anyway. I mean, seriously - I didn't have to look far for some hilarious text to back up my view that no person who truly enjoyed words in their art form could subscribe to this as a serious storyline with serious outcomes.

I wrote it off as yet another book that would have it's time and then leave as suddenly as it came. No pun intended.

It floated away for a while and then the rumours came of a movie. It was no real surprise - after all, it was clearly a commercialised hit already.  People who never usually bother to pick up a book had picked up three. Which is quite profitable for your 'supermarket sellers', the ones you pick up along with your shopping or with your lunchtime sandwich. Cheap and cheerful pick-me-ups, right?

The search was on for a man to play Christian Grey, a character whom every critic was holding up on a pedestal as one who would be difficult to perfectly portray.  Who, if the casting was wrongly done, would ruin the very image of man.  The supposition was that these would be very difficult shoes to fill.

He should be at once sexy, but commanding. 

Lusty and serious.

Hot and unforgiving.

Women were going crazy for this guy, so I decided to do a bit of investigating.  After all, I'm not adverse to a bit of perving over fictional characters in movie format.  I've seen Magic Mike (to my eternal shame. What? Channing Tatum is unbelievably smooth in that film. Those dance moves are UNbelieveable!)

After skulking around various film boards, newspaper articles and feminist boards, I was kind of a bit worried as to the kind of character this Grey man was.  After all, if any of my friends or family started going out with or dating a guy who treated them like that, I'd be staging an intervention, complete with identity papers and a house move to another country.

I'm perplexed - how are normal, seemingly functioning and sensible, modern, women even subscribing to this notion of a man so poisonous and degrading to the very core of femininity?

Talk about one step forward ten steps back.

I get the BDSM thing.  I get the allure of bondage and handcuffs and I can even imagine how sexual contracts like the one Grey gives Ana can be a bit of a turn on to the usual lady lounging at home with her day to day life. It's thrilling. It takes away from the normal wishy-washy will-she-won't-she mundane storylines that crop up time and time again in other 'romance' novels.

It pushes a boundary, a social contract even, and it makes it seem legitimate, because ultimately, by the end of the third book, Ana gets her child and her man and her life with them. So, it's like saying, 'oh yeah, well, sure, they have a weird relationship to start off with, but they work it out, yeah?'

I've had several conversations with my fellow women about Fifty Shades, and I have to say, it's not the books, it's not the characters, nor is it the plotline which shocks me the most; it's the reaction of normal, seemingly forward-thinking women to some of the darker undertones of it.  The really, terrible, awful, abusive stuff that, seriously, there can be no excuse for.

It's also the fact that they are willing to normalise this behaviour to such an extent as to jump behind the commercialism, to invest in 'girly nights out' to see the film all together, to fantasise as to which guy is going to play Mr. Grey so perfectly in the film, to shout down the women who point out that sexual fun and antics is entirely right and good, but that a man who takes advantage of a woman in such a way is a bit of a git.

I've heard all the arguments as to how to legitimise Grey's acts - "it's sexual slavery and that's how that works", "Ana saves Christian from himself, so she's the stronger one", "don't be so vanilla", "it's just a bit of fun".

Come on, who are we kidding here? 

At the same time, I'm torn; I remember such over-reactions to similar things like how evil Freddy Kreuger was, how corrupting video games were to young children, the reaction to awful porn like Deep Throat - all of which make us laugh now and say, 'really? That's nothing!'

But isn't that where the real problems lie?

The problem with things like Fifty Shades of Grey is that it does normalise and legitimise.  It raises a bar that the next person has to hit in order to shock, and trust me, this will come too. There will be a time where we look at Fifty Shades and laugh at how ridiculously sweet it was.

And what about the real people in real abusive relationships?  What do they do with this information? Does a woman caught in an abusive relationship now have a chance to romanticise what is happening to her instead of breaking free, in the hope that she too will find her Mr. Grey?  After all the work that has been done by various groups all over the world to say that such behaviour is not right, is dangerous, is wrong, doesn't Fifty Shades somewhat court responsibility for hat happens here too?

Apparently not as long as the people behind it are making their fifty shades of moolah.

Of course, the commercialization which goes along with such a box office hit is phenomenal.  There's Fifty Shades promos on everything.  Hitting the Valentines day market, you can even but Fifty Shades sex toys. Albeit, very poorly made sex toys. Seriously, don't waste your money. That stuff will snap in two if you even attempt to use it harder than a wee bit.

Christian Grey is like a metaphor for commercialism alone - even if you move to Antarctica, it'll find you, right?  Maybe that's the joke here? 

I'm no prude, I have a wicked imagination and I could tell most folk a thing or two about, you know, 'stuff'.

But there's a reason why it's hitting a lot of people's moral compasses and raising red flags.  Reasons I sincerely believe I don't really need to outline here.

Everyone is entitled to explore their sexuality in whichever way they see fit - that's fun and healthy and good.

I think the definition of healthy is what's at stake here.