Call Me Storm

I walked into the salon with all 1,138 pages of Stephen King’s It in my hand. It was a slow Friday morning as my hairstylist and old friend mixed the concoction that would soon transform my hair. Women all around me are getting hair sliced off with sharp pieces of metal. Small tunnels of air blowing their unkempt do’s into something acceptable for the wedding they have that weekend. Or just for modern society. There are some with Reynolds Wrap sticking out of their head as they sit under what must be some kind of spaceship seat, downloading information through the cone that floats above their head.

Unknown to me, I would soon undergo seven whole hours of goo sitting on my hair, slowly burning away the brown color that hung from my head for 26 years and instead, placing a color many older men and women dread as they age. The grey that creeps up on them from the corners of their face as it slowly takes over the entirety of their head.


Most of my style is inspired by the elusive people of Instagram that populate my feed and my fantasies of their fabulous lives and the fabulous clothes they’re wearing while living said fabulous life. My favorite, and most influential, blogger is Saul Carrasco. When he went blonde for a brief stint, I was immediately convinced that I, too, can dye my hair. That I can do more than just cut it shorter or grow it longer. That I can take risks and change my look completely. That I can take full charge of my appearance and turn it into whatever I want. That I didn’t need to be afraid and just go for it. And that’s exactly what I did. So, thanks, Saul.


The purple and blue tones washed out, as they’re supposed to,
leaving the lighter and darker greys behind.
It was so worth it. I couldn’t be more happy with how it came out.

Keep an eye out and watch how I evolve. A new era is coming.

Hair Stylist: Mariah M.

Until next time,
That Guy


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