My life-altering blonde to brunette makeover began many moons ago, with the complete opposite transformation. When I got lice in sixth grade, my Mexican mother said she knew the best way to cure it and bleached my brown hair blonde. This was the first of countless transformations to come: I’d dye, style, and suppress my natural brunette mane for decades, evolving into a perpetual beach waved blonde, complete with extensions to cement the aesthetic.
After the lice, puberty hit. I’d grown several inches in every direction, and at 11 years old, grown men whistled when I walked by. With that, I fully fabricated my identity as a “busty blonde,” bearing the assignment like armor. I thought if I beat the stereotype to the punch, I could subvert and shield it. The irrational ideology intensified when I was sexually assaulted by a group of friends as a teen, a memory I buried until college when I began to experience symptoms of PTSD. And while I did start therapy, I became blonder, too—adding highlights with each repressed memory. Perhaps I aspired to be Barbie: a blonde yet lifeless body that couldn’t perceive.
When I turned 30, however, something changed. I no longer relished my prowess at Princess Peach cosplay and awoke with an undying urge to return to my brown roots. While this decision seemingly came out of nowhere—genuinely shocking friends and family—this accurately depicted my internal state. I had just become a beauty writer, and so I was constantly considering aesthetics and hair, and how little (or much) meaning they had. It turns out things only matter as much as you let them, and that went for my hair’s assigned significance, too. With this clarity, I knew: It was time to let go.
Courtesy of Danielle Sinay.
An abrupt desire to change one’s hair is common for survivors. “The act of changing one’s hair after experiencing trauma is one way we choose to take our power back,” Amira Johnson, LMSW, a therapist at Berman Psychotherapy, tells me. “Although the act may not be conscious and appear to be relatively impulsive when it happens, there is a part of us that is advocating for the power of self to be put back into our hands.”
Consider the common trope of cutting or dyeing your hair after a breakup, or how I chopped my long and luscious hair into an ear-length bob after being assaulted in ninth grade. “Changing hairstyles might represent entering a new era or chapter in someone’s life,” Kara Lissy, LCSW, clinical director and psychotherapist at A Good Place Therapy, explains. “The shedding of our dead ends, which have traveled with us through many difficult months or years, is a representation of starting over with less weight on our shoulders.”
“What do you mean? Your brand is blonde!”
Hair transformations can signify inner healing and shifting from one state of being to another, adds Johnson—and I was certainly shifting. In 2021, I endured something reminiscent of what happened in my teens, as well as unexpected pregnancy loss. Despite this, atop the mental impacts of lockdown, I managed to graduate with my Master’s from Columbia, and even started running after a lifetime of thinking I couldn’t. Returning to my darker roots felt like the natural next step (or leap) in my long series of transformations-in-spite-of-the-odds.
Courtesy of Danielle Sinay.
I texted my trusted colorist, Jaclyn Curti, and stylist, Marc Mena. “I want to undergo a hair transformation,” I began. “I’m going to… darken my hair, and I kind of want a shag cut.” Half-expecting another exasperated response (my friends yelled, “What do you mean? Your brand is blonde!”), I was relieved to hear that both Jaclyn and Marc were on board and excited for my overhaul.
Within a week, I eagerly sat in Curti’s chair, watching as she first dyed my hair bright red—it had to be “filled in” to make sure the brown would stick— nd then add a brunette shade that most closely resembled the one from my childhood photos. She added a few highlights around my face to brighten it up a bit, but overall, my hair reverted back to its natural state. Or at least what it looked like on my seventh birthday.
As with running, I planned to tackle my transformation via interval training: Having just gone brown, losing my long length simultaneously would simply be too much. Physically sure, but mainly emotionally. So when I saw Marc, we decided to install a new, darker set of Great Lengths extensions, which he’d then layer into a very light shag. This would allow me to maintain the length while still counting as a major change (in my mind, at least), allowing me to ease my way into wearing natural hair within a few months. Slow and steady wins the race.
Courtesy of Danielle Sinay.
Sitting in Marc’s chair, my new hair—and self—manifested in the mirror. I didn’t recognize my reflection, and Marc didn’t, either—a stylist and friend who’s known me for years, even having styled my hair on my wedding day. “Who are you?” Marc asked, half in jest as he brushed my freshly chopped strands. “You are not the same person who walked in here this morning.” Together, we laughed, repeatedly inquiring who this new woman was. Friends who saw my pictures echoed the sentiment: I was someone else entirely. I was free.
Courtesy of Danielle Sinay.
But, like my color, it’s not that I’m a “new” person. This is the most I’ve felt like myself since I can remember, but no one could know that to be the case: I’d kept myself secret, burying and bleaching what felt too painful to bear, donning blonde locks like camouflage. But as they washed away, so did the shame. And so, today, I’m pleased to reintroduce myself and befriend my unfiltered reflection. Roots and all.
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