Bleach Please
October 2024 was chaos incarnate. I wasn’t just existing I was surviving, raging, and accidentally discovering that life is a lot funnier when your ex is out of the picture. That month, I was fresh off a nasty breakup, the kind that leaves you questioning your entire life and maybe even questioning if heartbreak should come with a warning label. Naturally, I decided the best coping mechanism was to scroll through old Raya matches I had forgotten even existed. Nothing heals like reopening a digital Rolodex of potential disasters, am I right?
I also went on dates with men I towered over, even in kitten heels. Yes, literal kitten heels, but my height aside, the men themselves were just as disappointing as expected. Some of them had exes whose personalities perfectly matched their looks: bland, entitled, and completely self absorbed. I sat across from them and thought, “How are you this boring yet somehow think you’re a prize?” It was exhausting, frustrating, and oddly entertaining all at once.
Somewhere between swiping, sighing, and the occasional laugh at how predictable human stupidity can be, I had what I can only describe as an ultimate rage out at Yankee Stadium. Picture this: me, fiery energy, built up frustration from dating, work, auditions, modeling contracts, and every little boundary crossed by people who should know better. I shouted. I gestured. I even skipped the ticket line because the energy was that intense. It was pure chaos, and yet… it felt like freedom.
After that, in the ironic twist life loves to throw, I decided to give men younger than me a chance. Cue Cub. Cub wasn’t trying to impress me. He wasn’t dragging around a messy ex. He was fun, easygoing, and ridiculously tall, the type of person you don’t have to analyze to have a good time with. That decision might have been the smartest choice I made that month, considering the disasters I had just endured.
And then came the final act: bleach. I had been sitting on this metaphorical boiling pot for weeks, emotionally fried, physically tense, and mentally exhausted. The ex was gone, the drama had peaked, and I wanted a literal transformation to match the figurative one. So, I went to Sally’s, grabbed the bleach, and went wild on my curls. I didn’t just want change ,I wanted reinvention. Orange hair, orange eyebrows, unapologetic energy, and the freedom to ignore the men I had entertained during this chaotic era.
That’s how October 2024 went: heartbreak, Raya resurrections, terrible dates, rage in Yankee Stadium, fun with Cub, and ultimately, a hair transformation that screamed, “I am alive, I am me, and I survived it all.” Bleach became my armor, my statement, my declaration that chaos cannot kill my energy. Menacing Muse was born that month, and it started with me realizing that sometimes the best revenge on a bad month is to live beautifully, loudly, and fully yourself preferably with bright hair and a little rage in your step.
