Yeah…so this happened.
You’re probably wondering what exactly is going on. I know…so was I.
Let me start from the beginning.
My hair has always been this boring meh sort of brown color. Growing up, I loved playing around with it, dying it different colors and trying different cuts. Depending on the season I would color it lighter or darker; in fall, I loved reddish tones and in the summer I would always do something lighter.
Even though I was always destined to be a blonde.
A few years ago I was introduced to the balayage/ombre style of coloring and fell in love. It was the perfect balance between maintaining a natural color with a sun-kissed look that perfectly complimented my ghostly complexion.
I always looked like I was coming straight from the beach even though I had been watching Netflix for 8 hours straight with the blinds shut.
What more could a girl want.
So a few weeks ago, I was feeling bored with my hair. And the thing was this time I had actually been to the beach and in the sun all the time. But sadly, my falsified sun-kissed look had finally grown out and been chopped away.
So one day I was getting my hair cut in San Vito at a legit salon, and asked if they did balayage-style coloring. Here, they call it puntas californiadas, which basically translates to “California tips.”
How cute is that?!
What wasn’t so cute was the price. She told me they charged 40,000 colones. That’s $70 yo!
When I told my host mom how expensive it was, she insisted that I go to her lady in the neighboring community who only charged $20. I said what the hey, I’ll give it a try and we made appointments for the following week.
Which bring me to this disaster.
There I sat with my hair dreaded into knots (or as my host mom jokingly called them in a very unfunny high-stress moment “rastas”) my heart throbbing with fear and regret as the tips of my hair were roasting away in foil and bleach.
20 minutes later, I sat with my head in a bowl in some lady’s garage which she had converted into a “salon” while she washed the bleach out of my rastas with freezing cold water and a towel that hadn’t been washed in days and was possibly used to dry a wet homeless dog.
She showed me the color of my new ends which were straight up bleach blonde and asked me if I wanted them darker.
“SI” I said without hesitation.
Enthusiastically, she suggested that we tint them PLATINUM SILVER.
We chose a carmel color together and off we went with the second part of the process. After washing the color out again, she brushed my hair (knots/rastas/dreads STILL intact) from the roots down like a crazy person.
Look I already have thin hair so I was just like porrrrr favorrr noooooooo. I quickly grabbed a brush off the counter and began to help her, starting from the bottom up to salvage as much hair as I could.
While brushing, she dropped the brush 4 TIMES without washing it and then called her daughter to go into her purse and bring her her brush, which she then used on my hair.
After she sort of blew dry my hair (she didn’t want to waste too much electricity), she was SO proud of her work she insisted on a few pictures.
And while it wasn’t no salon experience like the US (Aveda, hot water, I miss you guys) with the comfy chair, essential oils, and pre-cut head massage, I’ll admin the results weren’t terrible.
Except for this part, like…what? #NoBlendingNoProblem.
Although I was happy to support a local entrepreneur, I will be holding off from any hair and beauty treatments until I can get back to the states where dry towels and clean brushes are in abundance and the hot water flows freely.