Up until yesterday, the only colorist in my life had been Box of Féria from CVS in 1998 (she’s VERY hard to book, book NOW, or maybe just go to CVS?) but then a few weeks ago, I finally realized that it’s not just that all Women in LA just so happen to have bright and shiny hair, the colors of various sands and sunshines and trees, but that they actually all give their life savings to people called Colorists, who are ALSO beautiful people with beautiful hair, who paint your hair like Monet while you sit there patiently like hungry Art. My Colorist, which is how I start sentences now, ‘brightened and Funned me up,’ which for a Colorist, is a verb. I kinda look exactly the same but also I somehow feel more together, more like a woman who drinks green tea when she’s hungry. I was warned I’ll get obsessed, but for now, I think I’ll just enjoy walking around like a person who has a Colorist, saying things like ‘my Colorist has those shoes’ and ‘I’ll stop talking about MY Colorist when you stop talking about yours’ and ‘I don’t care if you’re just my Colorist I also consider you to be one of my best friends’ and ‘WHATEVER, I HAVE TOTALLY NOT BEEN ALL FULL OF MYSELF EVER SINCE I WENT TO THAT COLORIST;’ etc.