Looking into the mirror I run my fingers through my hair. Moving my head from side to side I examine each section. Pursing my lips I stare closely at the ends holding them between two fingers. ‘Doesn’t look too bad’ I say to myself, ‘it’s been at least a couple of weeks since I dyed my hair, surely once more won’t hurt?’ ‘Then that’ll be it’ I think, immediately lying to myself.

Before I know it, I’m scouring the shelves in Superdrug. Feeling like a kid in a sweetshop my eyes scan each item. A feeling of excitement overcomes me, a feeling that within this store the possibilities are endless. Secretly I understand that being excited over the hair dye isle is a slightly questionable habit, but all I can ever think about is how ‘new’ it will make me feel and surely there are worse things to be addicted to, right?

Some people eat when they feel stressed, some people shop compulsively, It makes them feel good. I dye my hair. It’s not as If I’m stressed a lot or anything, but when I find a new hair colour it makes me feel ‘refreshed’ like when your favourite shirt comes out of the dryer after being sat in the dirty laundry for a week, Okay, longer, but you catch my drift. In all honesty, some days I rejoice in the fact that I have any actual hair on my head left. I recall countless times sitting crossed legged on top of the toilet hoping and praying that my hair wouldn’t just slide off my head whilst nervously washing off bleach.

Picking up a box containing my new desired shade, I hop and skip to the checkout, usually spending far too much on ‘two for one’ offers and branded shampoo. The walk home from the store usually consists of me planning just how much time I need to set aside for the mammoth task ahead. ‘So I need to bleach, wait, wash, tone, wait, wash, condition,’ each of these tasks taking a minimum of twenty minutes. ‘It will be totally worth it though,’ I smirk. All these people spending a fortune at posh hairdressers, I can totally do it myself, in fact, why don’t people dye their own hair more? ‘What a waste of money,’ I snort feeling slightly too confident.

Once the new product has been “evenly distributed” (like I’m gonna just do half my head by accident) I sit and wait. Many a thought passes through my mind in this time such as, ‘is this acceptable shade for the office?’ ‘I wonder If It’s easy to remove?’ and finally ‘should I of picked that other shade?’

I’d say I am never truly aware of what the final results will be until I’ve undertaken the large and rather nerve-racking task of drying my hair. After spending so much of my time eradicating brassy tones from blonde hair, I’d say the ‘Lisa Simpson’ look is just not for me. (Such a skill only acquired from years of ‘Oh my giddy gosh, it’s gone orange’ moments, followed by floods of tears and more hair disasters than you could shake a pair of GHD’s at.) On my less confident days, I dry my hair with one eye closed, as if to blur out any mistakes that may be present as if they will somehow magically disappear from existence.

Feeling just about brave enough I open both eyes, I slowly take in the sight in front of me. (As a genuinely indecisive person in most aspects of life, I can tell you that I can determine whether or not I like a specific colour within milliseconds, it is a personal talent of mine) In a cold sweat I sit frozen, I can’t believe what has happened.

“I love it!” I screech, whilst victory dancing around the room. This is a rarity and a very lucky experience. On this occasion I’ve won my hair battle, fought the demons of split ends and orange hues. I have battled through and still have hair attached to my head. Celebrating with a mug of tea and a magazine I flick through the pages until an article catches my eye. Running my fingers through my hair I examine each section. Standing up I rush towards the town, slamming the door in panic behind me.