So here I am, newly blondish thanks to the always reliable colorist powers of Spoke & Weal in San Francisco. Christine took a solid four hours to bring my reddish brassy hair up to a level of blonde that I never thought was possible. In short, she is a genius. (Note: Ignore my flyaways, it's incredibly humid today and although they are a collective of hair genius, they can't undo genetics). Like I mentioned before, Spoke & Weal knows their shit and I'd trust them with any issue, wish, or whim.
It's been a couple weeks with my new lighter hair color, but since my work has decided to keep me as a personal slave, I haven't been able to take a decent photograph of the hair until now. And what a beauty it is paired with the diaphanous (aka, impulse buy) Isabel Marant top. It's ruffled like a bunch of peonies crossed with a beautiful rosé jellyfish, plus the lackadaisical structure of Mexican casita tops. It is this very generational history of mine that is giving me an incredible amount of guilt for allowing my overworked brain to justify the price. Ouch.