Since the dawn of time, or at least 2008, Beyoncé’s hair color commercials have bothered me. The actual commercials are just fine. She always looks amazing. I understand that it’s the color that moves me. I know that hey, I’m worth it. But something just doesn’t sit right with me.
If Beyoncé’s life is anything like mine, she’s at home right now dripping hair color all over the bathroom, with her head upside down over the side of the tub and staining the good Ralph Lauren towels from HomeGoods. Blue Ivy is screaming from the nursery because her Disney Pandora channel failed and went Raffi (no, No, NO). Jay-Z and the cat are on the couch with a salad from a bag, watching Tosh.0
I love the woman. I was not above doing the ‘Crazy in Love’ dance at my wedding, but I think it’s safe to assume she has someone that colors her hair for her. I wouldn’t be surprised if the person who colors her hair has three backup people to help: one to hold the foils, one to provide the Shiro-Abhyanga scalp massage and one to point the fan just right (so her hair billows in the breeze even when it’s wet and foamy). I was insulted to think that any advertiser out there would be so misguided as to believe that I would actually be fooled. And then… I saw Tina Fey’s hair color commercial.
I just got home from Target with a box of medium golden brown, and I am unsure how to feel about myself. What will help me sleep tonight is this: Even though they are both working moms just like me, Beyoncé leads the kind of life that makes me feel she has zero interest in DIY beauty. It would seem to me, she’s spent her entire life striving to never, ever, have to shave her own pits (or anyone else’s, for that matter) or trim her own bangs!
Tina, on the other hand, seems like the kind of woman who a) has in fact dyed her own hair b) would have no problem continuing to dye her own hair and c) might even have to be forcibly yanked away from the old-timey typewriter that I always imagine her sitting at, while wearing one of those green accountant visor thingies, to go the beauty shop… you know, for work. Tina can’t be bothered with such vain pursuits! She’s got mad mogul-ing to do!
She had me at “crazy-gorgeous.” Rich, radiant color… here I come.
So, as I schmear a protective layer of Vaseline around my hairline and get out the now-stained official Hair Day towels, I cross my fingers and whisper… “Hey. I’m worth it. Sucker.”