I Spent a Year Blonde—Here’s Why I Returned to My Natural Roots

Like a lot of brunettes, I grew up quietly obsessed with blonde hair. I dreamed of golden, glossy lengths that caught the light just right. Blonde felt magical. It felt like confidence in hair form.

That fantasy didn’t come from nowhere. Films and magazines made sure of that. From Kate Hudson’s rom-com glow to Serena van der Woodsen’s Upper East Side perfection, blondes were sold as the main character. They were fun. They were adored. Life just seemed easier for them.

Meanwhile, brunettes were usually cast as the sidekick. Sensible. Supportive. The friend standing just out of frame.

I did eventually make peace with my natural colour. But if I’m honest, the urge never fully went away. I always wanted to go blonde at least once, just to know. So in 2022, I finally did.

We’d just come out of yet another lockdown. I felt restless and stuck. I wanted change that felt bold and visible, something I could control when everything else felt uncertain. If I couldn’t change the world, I could at least change my hair.

A week after my patch test, I was back in the chair. Four hours passed slowly. Foils. Dye. A face mask covering half my expression. It was boring and exciting all at once.

Then came the reveal. Even with the mask still on, I could tell. The mousey brown was gone. In its place was a soft, honey blonde that felt brighter in every way. I fell for it instantly.

The upkeep came fast. Purple shampoo. Less heat. No tight ponytails. I noticed breakage at first, which was scary, but it eased once I learned how to look after it properly. With every visit, my hair got lighter, and before long, I barely remembered my natural shade.

Something else happened too. Those long salon visits changed my relationship with the place. I’ve never been great at small talk, but four-hour appointments force you out of your shell. Conversations became familiar. Then personal.

We swapped life stories. I celebrated her birthday. She surprised me at Christmas with a gift linked to something we’d once talked about. I went from being “a client” to being known by name. Every visit felt warm, not transactional.

That’s why deciding to go back brunette was harder than I expected. Not just because of the hair, but because it meant fewer visits. Less time in that chair. Less of that small bubble where I felt looked after.

After a year and a half, though, I was ready. I loved being blonde, truly. But it’s expensive. It’s time-consuming. And the truth is, I’m too low-effort for it to be forever.

Blonde was a chapter. A fun one. I’m glad I lived it. And I’m just as glad I knew when to close it.