From Salon Stress to an at Home Success

Grab a coffee, pull up a chair, and get comfortable because this is going to be a fun one!

Growing up, my mother was a licensed hairdresser. People always react the same way when they hear that: Lucky you! Free cuts! Insider tips and tricks! A personal glam squad at the ready whenever you need it! To that I have to say slow your roll friend. What it really meant was that I spent most of my childhood as her living, breathing, Barbie Styling Head (Shoutout to my 90s babies who had one). Sure, my ends were always immaculate and I walked around with some pretty fun cuts, but I had zero control over my look. Not until I moved out and got married.

In college, I negotiated permission, yes I do mean permission to dye my hair ONCE. Imagine me a fully formed adult-ish human, still checking with my mom like I was asking to borrow her car. Respect is a funny thing like that… LOL Instead of dyeing my hair in the dorm bathroom like my roommates, I drove home and let my mom’s colorist best friend work her magic in our kitchen. The result was stunning: a beautiful, flattering red.

Fast forward to a year after getting married. I was ready to be bold. So without telling my husband or my mother, I booked a salon appointment and decided it was time. Let’s go platinum.

The stylist looked at me, looked at my hair, and genuine thought I was lying about barely ever dying it before. She warned me it would talk multiple sessions. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. One session later I walked out icy blonde and very happy about it.

My husband showed up to pick me up and just about fell out the car. It took a full week before I built the courage to tell my mom, and even though she dramatically mourned the health of my hair, the blonde eventually won her heart. To this day she recommends I bring it back.

But the upkeep? That’s another story. Every time my roots grew out, I spiraled. So after a year and a half of living my best life as a blonde, I tried to pivot to Lindsay Lohan red. The stylist instead gave me a deep mahogany brown-red that was…. not what I was going for to say the least. Going from bright blonde to a dark mahogany felt like emotional whiplash. I stayed in the red family for another year and half, slowly clawing my way back to lighter shades, until I finally slapped on a medium brown and tried to reclaim my natural color.

By this point I’d met truly lovely stylists, but none who could deliver the color I actually wanted. So I gave up. I let the grays grow in.

And then one morning a package from L’Oréal showed up. I’d seen their Colorsonic all over the internet and thought, This is this so COOL, but no way can I trust myself with it. I mean, I’d never colored my own hair. Ever. My hair had always been strictly handled by professionals.

But then my grey hair reached about half a hand’s length, the Colorsonic sat there staring at me from its box, and then next thing I knew I was putting on an old t-shirt and preparing the bathroom.

It was time.

I was going to color my hair myself.

And L’Oréal was going to hold my hand through it.

The Colorsonic made the whole process feel suspiciously easy. You know when something comes so easy you have to question if you’re doing it right. Once the dye cartridge was locked in, the device started mixing internally, then pushed the color through the automatic bristles. I started at my roots, brushing the device through my hair. Then I snapped on the length attachment and worked it through the rest of my hair. No drips. No uneven patches. No frantic sectioning like I saw folks do on social with traditional at home dye kits. And the timing of it all? WILD. It was so much faster than sitting in a salon chair making small talk - loosing half the morning in the process.

The coverage on my grey’s was exactly what I’d get done professionally except this time, I was in control, I didn’t end up with random dye splatters on my forehead. Stylists always mean well, but there’s always that moment when they scrub my stained hairline like they’re trying to erase a bad test answer. This time? Zero dye on my face, I felt like I should’ve gotten a gold star LOL.

The toughest part was washing the color out. Picture this, me - a grown woman, folded in half over the kitchen sink like a push puppet. Next time I’m absolutely recruiting my husband - my back will not allow me to try those moves again.

Salons will always have their place - a bit of pampering, fresh blowouts, the social ritual of catching up with your stylist, but for color? I’m officially converted to an at home dyer. The ease, the control, the mess-free precision. The results are addictive.

There’s something powerful about realizing the best hair transformation was one I was capable of all along.