The great hair color debate: another place to compromise

This is Part 1 of Poppy's Excellent Hair Dye Adventure. You might want to finish the series by reading Part 2: Drugstore Color and Part 3: How to be a Silver Fox.

A college classmate of mine emailed me recently asking me--the recently minted expert in all things stylish and beautiful--where I stood on the subject of dyeing one's hair. It turns out I have a lot of thoughts on the subject. Too many to include in an email. Too many to include in a single blog post. So welcome to Poppy's Excellent Hair Dye Adventure, Part One.

Susie Sunshine, Goon Squad Sarah, and Poppy Buxom's dyed hair at last year's BlogHer conference

I should start by outing myself as insanely high-maintenance and extravagant. Because I can't stand gray hair. Snow white heads of hair a la Crystal Gale are all very well and good ... but my gene pool seems to run to years and years of dull and dreary salt-and-pepper.

Also, I'm hair-styling-challenged. When I was growing up, hair was long, straight, and parted in the middle. No one used rollers or blow-dryers. We washed our hair and let it dry. Which means I didn't even dip a toe into hair-styling waters until I was well into my 20s.

Now, to my mind, hair-styling is like downhill skiing or stock car racing--it's probably a good idea to get started when you're young. And since I didn't even try to blow my hair dry until I was in my 20s, I'm at a permanent disadvantage. Those long layers that look so great when somebody else styles them end up confounding my attempts. Which means a lot of the time, my hair looks messy and disheveled.

And what's worse than messy, disheveled hair? Messy disheveled hair that's gray. So my theory on hair color is this: I have to color my hair, because if I don't, I'll look like one of those wacky old peasant women who hung around watching people getting guillotined during the French Revolution, knitting and cackling in unholy glee.

L-R: Sydney Carlton in A Tale of Two Cities, a French soldier, and Poppy with her knitting

Or maybe, because I'm a singer, like a member of the chorus in an amateur production of Les Mis.

So I get my hair colored at Pascal Pour Elle, a la-di-dah salon in Glencoe, Illinois. (If you go there for color, ask for Priscilla. She's a genius.) I used to get a semi-permanent base color, to which were added highlight, lowlights, and a glaze for shine.

OK, this picture is maybe not so great of my gorgeous friend Liz
or even of me, but it does show off my high- and lowlights

I still do the same thing, but with permanent color for my base. The permanent color covers the gray better, but it does make for a more dramatic demarcation when the gray hair grows in. Around here, we call this "skunk head."

When I get skunk head, I start to freak out. I do everything I can to avoid standing next to anyone taller than 5' 10" because OMG they might notice my roots!!! Then, when I remember that I might have to bend over at some point, I head to the drugstore and pick up a box of Clairol's Nice and Easy Root Touch Up, which I've raved about before. I use this to touch up the roots along my part and my hairline. It works well, although I do end up like a guy with a comb-over--one stiff breeze and my subterfuge will be exposed.

Obviously, I have a hair-color fixation. Having me list alternatives to going to the salon every month smacks of hypocrisy. As much as I resent the time and money I spend there, I'm satisfied with things at present.

But let's assume that unlike me, you're not mental on the subject of hair color. Maybe you don't want to spend that much money. Maybe you don't want to go through all that angst. Maybe you want to stand next to as many tall people as possible. What are your options?

Tune in tomorrow for Poppy's Excellent Hair Dye Adventure, Part 2: Drugstore Color.