Redheaded brunette.

And just like that (two hours later), I'm a redhead. I thought of something darker, more black, and my excellent Gary Manuel-bound stylist Dan thought of lighter browns, some caramel (which I like because it sounds like sugar). But when the initial lighteneing goo was rinsed, I looked at my fantastic red hair and decided this color was my destiny. Fortunately Dan had the same idea, because he kind of does whatever he wants -- hence the blonde splotch I'd been wearing for a month.

Much, much later, after a tray full of creams and formulas, including a disarmingly bright orange (see the splotch next to the orange hair dryer), he removed the foils, rinsed and dried, and I was lighter and more red than ever. And I love it.

Strangely though, despite having red in my hair for the last 6 months or so, my identity still lingers under the four-year reign of bottle black. It's not so much that I picture myself with black hair anymore; when I look at old photos, the color seems flat, bland, not striking like I'd thought it then. But I feel like a black-haired girl with red hair temporarily.