A quick letter to Iroiro Pink 70

Girl, what the fuck. I mean really what the fuck. I’m a certified pink girl from the hallowed halls of scene queens and straight razor bathroom haircuts. Manic Panic was my ride or die. Arctic Fox smelled amazing but didn’t last. Lunar Tides the new baddie. Every shade of pink possible. I was reluctant to use you, some random brand, despite everyone singing your praises. I’m old, I’m resistant to change.

Today, mid crash-out, I ordered $120 worth of mental health from Sally’s with you as a last minute Add To Cart.

From one 4 oz bottle I’ve somehow managed to dye myself, the front door, the handle of my Dutch oven, the dog and most importantly my sanity. All of this on top of a 4 glasses of wine (I don’t care if that’s a whole bottle we count by the glass like ladies) bleach job and vibes.

I have never been more pink. Tattooed in pink slashes from runaway strands. I’ll be pink forever. Thank god.

So, if there are any other doubters out there buy this pink. Consider laying down some tarps first.