I'm in a Hairy Situation

As a fashion design student, I know how important one’s outward appearance is. It’s pretty obvious that the kind of person that takes on this major has a sick and almost perverse relationship with clothing, fabric, style, and art. And I suppose all of us can be described as strong characters.

While in high school, I always felt incredibly uncomfortable in my own skin. I would reinvent myself every year and adjust the way I dressed to try and suit who I wanted to be. Now, although I probably am not as over-styled as I would like (high heels? Hell no!), I’ve found a weird peace with my wardrobe. I know what I like to wear. And I know that I’m safe wearing anything at my school (something I was not comfortable with at my high school).

“It’s hard to find an intern – especially one from a fashion school – that has good style” – Adam Lippes  

“It’s hard to find a poorly dressed male fashion designer that doesn’t say offensive shit about their interns (and probably females too but whatev)” –Leah Trojan #SORRYNOTSORRY #WeWorkForFree

One of the ways I’ve been able to channel some of the negative energy started in late September 2011, after a traumatic experience (though lets be honest, living in Brooklyn is a traumatic experience all on its own) and while I was in the midst of a weird non-relationship; I made a commitment that I wasn’t able to make before I left home: I dyed my hair pink!

then red (so I could be Ariel for Halloween!!) ...with black tips

then back to my natural color for a bit (boring!) underdyed with green and blue

then full on green (ok, this was not the best hair color I've ever opted for)

then blue so I could transition to purple

then I came full circle back to pink and now an orangey-red that's ombre-ing with my natural strawberry blond hair.

My suite mates and I would joke about my subsequent hair-dying ritual. I would joke “I dye my hair every time I enter or leave a relationship.” My suitemate and fellow fashion major made another observation: she knew I was procrastinating when I had dye smeared all over my head. I guess my hair to me is a coping mechanism, it has helped me feel better when I felt unhappy much of sophomore year.

It’s true, sometimes I feel depressed. Or I suppose it’s something that happens quite often: I’m clinically depressed. I’m taking medicine to help me with it and I’ve gotten to resume a “normal” life (I say that because, like many others, I have been coping with depression ever since I can remember) since I was prescribed it last year. However, sometimes it hits me, cripples me, and ultimately leaves a devastating impact in my path toward living. Though, I suppose if you’ve ever asked me my life goals, I often just say “I want to be happy”. That can either be taken as the most or least ambitious goal you’ve ever heard, but it’s the only goal I can imagine worth living toward. If I didn’t have that light then I would have probably already taken my own life; I never expected to live past high school graduation. Somehow, I did. And somehow the façade I put on was able to get me accepted to both Parsons and Pratt (which were my top schools) and somehow I managed to convince my unraveled parents to allow me to escape to the US' fashion mecca. And after all of that I'm already approaching my senior year of uni.

Alright, well how does this all pertain to me right now in this moment? I’m in Milan. I’m alone. I’m feelin sad. AND I can’t find any goddamn hairdye. It’s like a firstworld problems shipwreck over here!!

…and then I found a package of hair pigmented treatment and I think I’m regaining my composure, or at least enough to continue on with another month (almost exactly!!) in Milano.