When I was in seventh grade, I finally convinced my mom to let me dye my hair. After what felt like forever in the salon (seriously, who knew my hair would be so hard to bleach?), I walked out with neon orange tips and a streak in the front and never looked back. Now, as a twenty-year-old majoring in education, I often get strange looks or questions of when I'll outgrow that phase or start dying my hair "normal" colors. The truth is, I'll never outgrow it and will always find a way to have fun colors, whether they just be for the summer or what, because my hair has become my favorite expression of who I am. I won't give that ability up until my hair no longer accepts color and here's why.

It's not hurting anyone.

The only person affected by my hair is me, the owner of the hair. It doesn't hurt anyone for my hair to be bright and expressive any more than tie-dye shirts and bell-bottoms hurt people in their heyday. I mean, come on. It's not gonna jump out and bite you, it just makes me happy. Even middle school Kenzi can see that.

It sets me apart from other people.

My senior year, I had the privilege of conducting the ballad during my marching band show, while marching piccolo during the other two pieces. The looks of astonishment and giddy comments I got after every performance away from home because of the reveal of my hair were priceless. No one could tell when I was on the field that beneath my shako was a braid streaked with bright pink. It was a defining aspect of me and it set me apart from an otherwise uniform group, but in a way that didn't deter from our performance at all. It was, in short, awesome.

It fascinates kids.

My niece has only ever seen me without some unnatural color a few times in her life, but she loves the way my hair has changed. When I had it pink for homecoming (shown above), she said I looked like a queen. When I dyed it dark purple during my freshman year of college, she was so excited that I chose her favorite color. The twin boys I watch on occasion have always adored seeing my hair different colors and find it fun to guess how the color will show through. I once had a little boy in a Target tell me that I had beautiful blue hair. All in all, the looks of curiosity, admiration, and pure intrigue are enough to make me want to keep all the little ones in my life guessing.

It's a fashion statement.

I have dyed my hair to match prom dresses (or dates' dresses) and I have had a boy match his shirt to my hair. The dye in my hair has become as much a source of expression as it has a demi-permanent accessory that adds to my presence. By way of styling the color, I have given myself a canvas that is way too much fun to play around with to pass up. Besides, look at those looks. They're rockin'.

I've had colored hair through a lot of defining moments in my life.

I got confirmed with pink hair, got my license with faded pink hair, graduated with teal, started college with more teal, went to an opera with purple, had a photo shoot with red, watched my cousin get married with red, got initiated into a sorority with faded red, and was initiated into a fraternity with blue. My color has been such a part of me during these big moments that it's hard to imagine life without it.

Hair grows back.

When people used to criticize my mom for letting me do this, her response was always, "It doesn't matter, hair grows back!" If I ever hated the color, it could be cut out and hair could grow back. If I couldn't cut it, I could wait it out til I could. No hair is truly permanent and even when I like the color it's at, sometimes my hair still needs a fresh start. That's what makes it one of the best choices for getting out reckless impulses: hair can be cut while tattoos and piercings can't be undone (Okay, you can take out piercings and get coverups, but still. You get my point).

It makes me freaking happy.

More important than any other reason here, having these colors in my hair makes me really happy. Who cares what anyone thinks if what you're doing is safe and enjoyable? My ability to get (and in the future, give) an education isn't affected by this hair. My ability to be professional and respectable isn't dictated by my hair. The only thing my hair does is give me something extra to smile about in the mirror, and that's all that really matters.