Like most girls in the 90s, I grew up obsessed with butterfly clips and the Spice Girls.
And I mean crazy town OBSESSED.
When (Her Maj) Adele posted this to Instagram earlier in the year, I identified so strongly with her it was almost a spiritual experience.
And again, when Blake Lively said:
When I was a child I probably should have been medicated about my obsession with the Spice Girls. I had the Buffalo shoes, a Baby Spice necklace – when I say custom-made, it was made out of plastic from the local mall – and a Union Jack dress.
Preteen fangirl is a special breed of crazy.
Just ask Justin Bieber.
And to be honest, at 29, I probably still know every word to Wannabe, every dance move to Stop Right Now, and Geri Halliwell is still my spirit animal.
Like Adele (did we just become best friends?), my favourite Spice Girl
was is Ginger Spice.
She was loud. Fun. Empowering. And I was all about that hair.
So much so, that I still vividly remember going to the hairdressers with a hand-drawn picture (it was a different time) of the shoulder-length Geri haircut I wanted.
Nevermind that I have naturally wavy hair, and it was the 90s, and I was seven, and the most sophisticated hairstyling tool at my disposal was a brush.
Poor tiny Kate and her poofy halo of brushed out curls, bouncing up around her ears.
I’m nearly 100% sure I cried in the hairdresser’s chair.
Fast-forward 22 years, and I’m basically still trying to look like Geri Halliwell in the 90s.
Cause this week I dyed my hair red – again.
Red hair, don’t care
Pre-baby, I dyed my hair more than that chick in the Bourne Identity.
I was brunette, then I was ginger, then I was really ginger, and then I was strawberry blonde, then I was a copper to blonde ombré … Then there was a lob. Then a blunt bob. Then a fringe.
Honestly, I changed my appearance so regularly you’d have thought I was in witness protection.
Montage, montage, montage!
“Just a trim and my roots” are six words my
long suffering hairdresser has never heard come out of my mouth.
But with the (boring) budget cuts that inevitably come with becoming a parent, I decided to rock my brunette roots for the better part of a year and a half.
But then I was in the supermarket.
And I know home hair dye is cheap, and bad, and basically the devil.
But then I was like …
Montage, montage, montage!
So hopefully my locks don’t explode, or turn into straw, or whatever it is that’s so much worse than salon dye.
(Footnote: I just did some low-level Google research on why, and this is a handy article on it. Making major changes that need some chemistry know-how is the key perpetrator of a botched box dye.)
At home with Kate
I used Firey Topaz by Schwarzkopf (twice).
I wasn’t a hundred percent on the first go of it. It seemed a little lighter at my roots, and a bit more brunette than entirely necessary.
So I did what any woman who’s just watched Aquaman and liked Mira’s hair would do, and I went and bought another box. And I dyed it again.
And this it what we ended up with …
Just after doing the second box (it’s lightened since then – yass!).
It’s definitely not as good as when I go to the salon. But it was $20, so like …
And it’s made me feel a bit more like myself.
The Motherhood Sisterhood
It’s easy to find yourself consumed with motherhood – and that’s not entirely a bad thing. That kiddo really needs you.
But you’re important too. Your interests and priorities matter.
So to all my mums out there: make sure you’re regularly doing things that give you some energy, and fun.
Things that make you feel good about yourself.
Your tired, compassionate, loving, stretched self more than deserves it.