Jesus Christ you look like f*cking Amy Winehouse

So, on Wednesday I posted on LinkedIn about how I am not a cool person – everything I do in life is a shit show behind the scenes. If I can turn something into a stressful, awkward situation for myself, then I will.

I’m A God Damn Individual

It was December 2012. I had recently joined a roller derby team…I had a lip piercing, I have a number of tattoos and I wore a lot of stuff with rips and crazy tights. I was a god damn individual, but something was missing. My conclusion was that it was having abnormally coloured hair. After testing lilac, that wasn’t enough, so one Friday night I ramped it up and went Cadbury purple, with fuchsia accents.

As it was coming up to Christmas, my expectation was that I’d be spending most of my last days entertaining clients (recruitment consultants and agency Directors) so it would be fine, and no one would mind, and after Christmas I’d go back to my corporate self.

The feedback in general was good, clients said it was cool. As I partied through the festivities and ceilidh’d my way through Hogmanay in Edinburgh, it faded to a horrendous washed out blue – and mum and dad looked at me with a pained expression, like they were questioning if I’d had a breakdown.

I spent the last day (a Thursday) packing up to go back down to London and the plan was that I’d just throw some peroxide through and reduce the impact ready for my first meeting of January on the Friday morning. Problem was, there was an accident on the motorway to Glasgow Airport, and I missed my flight. I didn’t get home til after 11pm….

It’s Fine – I Have a Wig

But! All was well, as I’d actually bought myself what I thought was a pretty authentic wig in case I felt like keeping the mermaid hair. I could be corporate Carrie, AND rainbow Carrie! Win win!

On the Friday morning I got dressed, put on the obligatory slap, and set about the wig. In the cold light of day the wig was not as authentic as I thought. More Pound Shop Barbie meets Sharon from Eastenders. My own hair was so long, and the hair net/weird scalp tights wasn’t really holding it. I didn’t know where the f*ck the wig was meant to sit to look like a normal hairline, but I reluctantly accepted that it was just for a few hours, and set off on my public transport commute to Hemel Hempstead.

As I waited for numerous buses, and boarded trains and tubes with the rest of the professional world, I started dying inside. Van drivers were shouting smutty comments, everyone was staring…at least I thought they were. And then to add insult to injury I got lost in my client’s industrial park office location, and it broke me.

I tried taking the wig off, but after 2 hours scraped back, hair sprayed within an inch of its blue life in a hair net – things were not looking good. My bag wasn’t big enough to take the matted mane, and I was about to cry. So, I threw it in the bushes – and called my client to say I’d had a flat tyre on the way and that I needed to reschedule. Phew! Stress gone, time to go home and forget this day ever happened. She’d be right by Monday.

The Phone Call

Not so. My phone rang, and it was my MD. He’d secured a last-minute meeting in Paddington with a brand new client, and wanted me to come with him. What. The. F*ck.

I was gonna warn him in advance, but I figured it was best to not give him the anxiety I had… so, back to London it was. Birds nest hair and all. I hit up Boots at Paddington hard; hair bobbles, doughnuts, pins, dry shampoo – the works, to minimise the impact of the impending meeting with Phil. I can’t say it really helped.

I turned up, and his face was priceless – ‘Jesus Christ Carrie, what have you done?? Your hair’s blue, you look like f*cking Amy Winehouse…’.

It wasn’t as bad a reaction as I expected, but he spent the whole meeting pointing out my hair and apologising on my behalf. Ironically, the clients didn’t seem to give a shit. In fact, when the whole mortifying experience was over, one took me aside when Phil went to the bathroom and said, ‘I actually think your hair looks fine, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it had he not pointed it out….’

So, I guess if there was to be a moral to this story, it would be – when you have weird hair, or anything else that’s a bit weird… just own it. It’s probably more of an issue for you than it is for other people.

And also, good wigs are expensive for a reason…. Happy Friday!