I changed my hair colour five times in a year to see if gay men fancied me more – they didn’t, but it was still fun

“It’s cunty,” says a cool, stylish young bystander at Kitch Hair of my new hair colour: acid green.

“It’s… what?!” I reply, clutching pearls.

‘Cunty’, according to Urban Dictionary, means “very bad bitch-esque, very fierce.” A word I can’t imagine being used to describe me before. At least not without a ‘Y’ on the end. But today, it feels correct.

Now, I’ve tried home bleaching before. And naturally, I had a phase at 15 as a black-haired, Geri Halliwell-listening ‘goth’.

But beyond this, I’ve rarely wavered from my natural dull, mousey brown.

Then, one day, in the mirror of a lift with truly offensive lighting, I saw up my hairline at how fragile and finite each hair follicle was; how they cast little shadows across my scalp. “I’m not bald yet, but might be one day,” I thought. “Why not do something with it while I have it? Maybe it’ll make guys like me more…” Pathetic, I know. (Side note: I find baldness and hair loss attractive on others. But on me? Internalised ageism, homophobia, and femme-phobia mean I’m not ready for that.)

Off to Kitch I went: a queertastic salon and barbers in London’s Angel, famed for its star-studded clientele, gender neutral pricing, and pastel-hued, 1950s kitchen-inspired interiors.

From here, I flit from blonde to grey to pink to blue to Slimer from Ghostbusters green across one fittingly dramatic period of my life. The experience changes me, but not in ways I expect. For one, it eases my dentist-like fear of hairdressers.

On my first visit to Kitch, I chinwag in hair foils with a former Attitude cover model and a former Drag Race competitor. And all to a never-ending soundtrack of Kylie and ABBA. It’s just that kind of place.

Chatting with strangers doesn’t come easily to me, but the friendly, talented staff here set the tone. A bubbly vibe rubs off on all who enter. Thus, across five visits and many complimentary beers, I put the world to rights with an array of girls, gays and theys – and find out, once and for all, if blondes have more fun.

Hair colour 1: Blonde

The top line is: as a bottle blonde, someone propositioned me on the Tube. This has never happened to me before. It’s not the love story it should have been (it later emerges he has a boyfriend, duh) but it’s a welcome confidence boost.

I love life as a blonde. But be warned: it’s hard work. While on a mini break in Mykonos, reality sets in. Going underwater in chlorine-ridden swimming pools? No chance. Sunbathing in searing heat with a still-raw scalp? Not possible. My colourist has achieved a work of white hot art, and I intend to preserve it at all costs. I resign myself to the shade, like a reptile in a wig.

Hair colour 2: Grey

My blonde era is short, as I want to try a natural grey look before my roots show. Think of it as shock treatment, as I already have flecks of grey in my Brillo pad beard. (And black, brown and copper. It’s chaos.)

I expect to have a visceral reaction to the shade – a soft, elegant silver by Kevin Murphy – but don’t. One friend becomes obsessed, and I mean obsessed with it, but otherwise, it goes largely unremarked on. Not that I expected a summit; it’s just curious comparing the muted response to the grey to, say, the compliments and insults generated by the green.

Am I suddenly invisible? Is this ageism? Or do I simply blend in with every East London wanker and his dad with off-grey hair? Big questions.

Hair colour 3: Pink

This was my personal favourite: a soft cotton candy, again a Kevin Murphy toner. (All products used by Kitch are “cruelty free, PPD free, sulfate-free, paraben-free using the finest natural ingredients available to ensure the range is the highest natural quality,” they say.) Like most pleasure in life, it is fleeting.

There’s a trade-off to subtle, pastelly finishes like this: toners are semi-permanent. If you suffer with a daily hair-washing complex like I do, they last five minutes. I was genuinely curious to see how the pink went down on the dating scene (read: the casual sex scene), but barely had chance to find out.

Does pink make the boys wink? Tragically, in my case, only in the mirror.

Hair colour 4: Blue (or possibly purple)

“Serving Annie Lennox” was one of the many beautifully intentioned comments I got when debuting my lilac pixie cut on Instagram.

Now, I love the Eurythmics frontwoman as much as the next self-respecting gay over 30. She is stunning. But do I want to look like her? No.

How ironic, then, that it wasn’t the pink that brought out my femme-shaming inner-saboteur, but the blue. Also ironic: despite being my least favourite colour, this was the one most warmly embraced by friends.

Hair colour 5: Green

“You OK mate?!” So says some rancid oike in Oxford Circus, to belly laughs from his posse. I’ll admit it. I look radioactive. But I like it! And so, it seems, do most people.

The difference between toner and hair dye is the latter can’t be ignored. I thus decide against fire engine red after my final consultation. (These chats, during which you peruse swatches and get the lowdown on aftercare, are key. Suffice to say, I stock up on sulphate-free shampoo, leave-in conditioners and intense masks for the entirety of my journey.)

Random old ladies strike up conversation with me about my hair in the street. People use it as an ice-breaker in clubs. But the best reaction, by far, is a little boy’s face when I swing by my local laundrette. He lights up, his grin uncontainable. It reminds me of how, as a child, you can’t wait to grow up as adulthood seems so much fun. Changing your hair, I realise, is a way to engage that inner-child.

As such, five months on, I’m back to my natural brown colour… but rocking a mullet. Stay cunty.

For more information about Kitch Hair, visit the official website.