Kate's DIY projects, A retrospective

Kate's DIY projects: A Retrospective

For many years, I have taken on a number of do it yourself projects involving my personal appearance. Some have been successful, like good solid (and dare I say kicky!) eyeshadow application, or the only holes in my ears that are even and still intact, the ones I pierced myself with a needle and an ice cube. Others, however, have been less fruitful and the results made me wish I lived on a far away planet for a few weeks. I was reminded of a couple of these, which I will list momentarily, as I stared dumbfounded into the mirror last night after waxing (!) my eyebrows and seeing the image above.

The offending eyebrow, as you can plainly see, is indicated by my red chopstick (stolen) from Frank Fat's, a notable Sacramento eatery. This happened because in the interest of getting rid of any kind of semblance of a unibrow, which I don't even have to begin with, I thought I would take my wax to some outer-lying hairs from my right eyebrow. I usually wax my own eyebrows, and never really have experienced a problem in the past. As usual, all seemed to be going well, but then when I removed the wax and studied it, as I always do, much like someone looks into the Kleenex or hanky after they blow their nose-an action I don't fully understand myself, I saw that there was a disconcerting number of eyebrow hairs within said wax. I panicked, and slowly raised my eyes to my reflection. I looked horrific. There was now a continent (roughly Australia) of skin between my eyebrows, and worse, the right eyebrow now bent upward so that I look like I'm angry all the time. Looking in the mirror, I was faced with only one viable option. Cut my bangs to conceal my freak eyebrows. It was this decision that triggered the flood of memories related to my beauty mishaps, most of which happened right before or on the day of some huge event:

1985 (first day of High School)

I was nervous and waiting impatiently for the bus because I didn't want my Mom driving me to school like the other loser freshmen. My best friend was going to meet me in front of the school beforehand so we could walk in together. I thought I would surprise her with flashy new bangs to go with my (already homely and unfortunate) pageboy haircut. I steadied myself with the scissors in front of the mirror and started hacking away. 15 minutes later I stepped back to admire my handiwork. With horror I realized that I looked like Emo Phillips! Mild panic set in. Should I miss school? Feign a sickness a la Ferris Bueller (Bueller?) or maybe run away from home to join a circus made up of experimental haircutters? Did they have such things? I was 13, I didn't know. Hey, maybe I could really find Robert Smith and the rest of The Cure. Surely they would appreciate my creative efforts.

My mind turned the options over and over. None of these things would work. It was the first day of High School. People were expecting me. My Mom was already on her way to work, and if she found out I'd missed school I'd be in huge trouble. I found a scarf and attempted to tie it around my head all 1960's like, like Annette Funicello or something. Yeah, yeah, I'm having my own personal beach party! I was feeling okay about this option, so I pulled on my green Benetton sweater, tweedy matching Benetton pants, purple Candies boots (I already had problems, let's face it) and set out to meet the Big Yellow Dog.

Once on the bus I was met with many curious stares. I shrank in my seat, wishing I could be anywhere but on this bus, with it's bizarre mixture of jocks, total freaks trying to smoke cigarettes in plain sight, complete dorks (one was already giving me the come hither look. I should have known then. Bangs or no bangs, it was always gonna be the dorks in high school who found me fetching) and semi nice people who didn't seem to quite fit anywhere but were not about to speak to me, the freshman, the lowest of the low. The girl who looked like Emo. Phillips. My bangs were sticking out strangely from over the scarf, my beach party was not happening. My friend made sure to laugh at me and completely hammer the last nail in the coffin that was my first day of High School.

Needless to say, I didn't cut my bangs again until I got further instruction from a professional, but that didn't stop me from experimenting with my hair, oh no. Flash forward to me at 20-something:

2001
It was the night before a really important job interview. I was low on cash (hence the job interview) and I needed blond highlights. Badly. My Mom started me on the highlighting kick when I was 12, and there was no way I was going to miss out on being fully blond for such an important interview. There was also no way I could go to my regular (since 12) stylist, so I went to Longs and weighed my options. I didn't want to dye my hair a different color, because I was so attached to being blond. I wasn't about to stop having more fun, you know what I mean? The only option was to do my own highlights. I purchased the box of chemicals for pennies compared to what I'd have to pay my stylist. I felt overcome with a sense of power, of taking matters into my own hands. Ha! In her face!

I set about the highlighting process. I mean, how hard could it be? I'd watched it being done for years. I'd learned a few things. Heck, the brush for applying the chemicals even looked the same as the one my own stylist used! I went to work. Several hours (yes hours) later, I looked at my results. For one, they were much yellower than I had thought they would be. Later I realized that this was due to the much weaker “over the counter” bleach. Now, of course, I know that there are important numbers assigned to different bleaches, and that is what determines whether your hair will be more golden or more ashy. Oh well. Also, sadly, my application was fatally flawed. How did I expect to get to the back of my head, anyway? Magic? There were hopeless little spots of bleach on my natural hair, and unsightly lines of color/bleach all around. It was 11:00 p.m. on the eve of the interview. I had enough bleach left, so I bleached my entire head of hair.

The result was yellow and fried, but somewhat passable in its uniformity at least. A week later I went to a different stylist and had to have my hair cut extremely short to repair the damage done by my attempts to cut costs.

Now, I just dye my hair some weird red/brown color, but I want desperately to be blond again. Trust me. I will go to a professional for this. My friends and family (especially my Mom) are begging me not to try to DIY to my hair again. Instead, I will wait until I come into some money and make it happen the right way.

As for the eyebrows, I think I'll go to a professional for those too.

I need a nap.