Surviving the self-dyeing abyss

There are some things that should be attempted only by a professional. Would you stitch up your own wounds? Repair downed power lines after a storm? Attempt a top-speed drive on a closed course even after the car companies warned you? Of course not. So why did I think I could color my own hair?

I'm going to blame it on television and magazine advertisements. Christina Hendricks, Tina Fey, Jennifer Lopez, Beyoncé - that's right, Beyoncé - have all shaken their beautifully colored manes while promoting boxed dyes that cost less than $30. "Self," I said to myself in June, "let's save money for a few months and forgo salon visits. We're pretty smart. We'll just cover those gray hairs ourselves." So naive.

As with almost everything else in the world these days, people have strong opinions about whether to cover grays. "God makes us gray for a reason," is one argument. My counter: I am embracing my beauty with the help of the many miraculous dyes God has created. If my grays were joined in a single cool stripe that I could sexily drape over my eyes, maybe I'd keep them. But no, they're mixed in unevenly. Last spring, two of my nieces, ages 7 and 5, decided they were going to count my gray hairs. They quickly gave up, saying, "There are just too many."

So into the self-dyeing abyss I dove. Instead of the lush brown I sought, the roots of my hair, about an inch along the part, turned bright orange - a shade that even clowns would shun.

After about 10 minutes of hyperventilating, I hit up Google for help. I found it via a Wikihow article titled, "How to fix hot roots or bleached roots."

The author of this 27-step guide seemed to be able to see into my soul. The first step was to read all of the steps before doing anything. The second? "Stop thinking whatever it is you are now considering to fix your roots." Step four: "Just get your wits about you, and take a deep breath." Step eight: "Put on a cute hat and jump in your ride." My Wikihow guide was sending me to the nearest drugstore for product.

I should have known better. This wasn't the first time I'd attempted to alter the color of my hair and failed miserably. The first time was in high school. One night a friend slept over, and we decided to bleach parts of our hair. I was going for that John-Taylor-of-Duran-Duran-blond-forelock look. (This was the 1980s. Don't judge.) My friend just wanted some highlights.

A natural blond, my friend's hair came out well. Meanwhile, my thick thatch of dark-brown bangs turned a bright, brassy orange. I will never forget approaching my mother in the kitchen the morning after. She was at the sink, her back to me, when I walked in and announced I would not be going to school the next day - or for at least the next month. She turned around, saw me, and actually screamed. Then she got angry.

"I don't care how you look," she hissed. "You are going to school tomorrow."

But she did call her friend, a professional hair dresser, for some help. After a few Sunday hours in a salon chair, the color improved slightly. But to return to normal, I just had to grow it out. That took forever, or it seemed that way to my 15-year-old self.

Now, 30 years later, here I was again. I got the hair glaze as per Wikihow advice. I spent the next few hours using an old toothbrush to rub glaze into my hair, then waiting, rinsing, and repeating. The roots got a bit darker. Over the next few months, I purchased the same glazing kits at least twice more. The look improved, but for the time I'd wasted and the money I'd spent, I would have been better off just getting my grays covered by a professional from the start.

In September, I went back to my regular hair stylist. I confessed my sins. (I kind of had to; there was evidence.) He forgave me with a nod, then whipped together a concoction that repaired the damage and covered all of those pesky grays.

When Beyoncé calls, I'll be happy to share his number.

Philadelphia writer Natalie Pompilio doesn't actually have any gray hairs. This was a hypothetical essay. Check out her head if you don't believe it.