Hello, my name is Sarah and I am a blonde addict. How good or bad my day is depends on the length of my roots. With that money, I could have bought a Mini Cooper. Is this what is meant by being a blonde bimbo? I sacrifice money — and the health and strength of my hair — to be a golden goddess. My obsession started young. Born a natural blonde, my mother tells me I looked bald for the first two years of my life.
But by age ten, the scourge of the Anglo-Saxon head - that dreaded shade of mouse - had drably started to appear. Already, I was aware how much better my translucent English complexion looked when crowned with a light feathering of sun-kissed strands. Old Christmas photos reveal a starkly Victorian looking tween, staring wanly at the camera lens like a child from a film adaptation of The Turn of the Screw. Aged 17 and boy crazy, a friend mentioned squirting hair with lemon juice had a naturally brightening effect.
Convinced, I spent one long, hot summer attracting every insect within a two-mile radius, sporting a shellacked helmet of sticky strands. It was worth it though, for the male attention I got. This meant my fellow students had to put up with wafts of bleach when I walked past and sitting behind my orange-tinged mane in lectures.
At 21, earning a proper salary for the first time, I could afford to let the cap and foil highlighting begin. I went through strange shades of greenish-blonde and silver-blonde before finally resting on a pretty cornhusk yellow, the nearest to the fondly remembered shade of my youth. Sadly now, two decades on, I feared my hair has had enough. Could I return to my natural shade? What was my natural shade? Or could I restore my hair while staying blonde?
This had to change. Embracing a holistic approach, the hip health resort is transforming hair care into a luxurious reason for a day at the spa, anaylysing the reasons your hair looks dull and what you need to do about it. I booked a plane ticket to Morocco immediately.
