Tinted Love

Bleach London’s Alex Brownsell is bringing her DIY, designer-approved hair-color technique Stateside with a flagship salon and a rainbow-filtered view of life after lockdown. By Molly Creeden.

When I was asked by this magazine if I wanted to dye my hair for a story, my husband and I had just finished eating our 331st consecutive dinner together since the pandemic began. During our meal of roast chicken (again), we’d earnestly discussed watching the grass grow in our yard. Would I like to dye my hair? Of course I would. The nature of my life over the past year—which included giving birth to my first child and living under Los Angeles’s recurring stay-at-home orders—had made me eager to exist in a world inching back to normalcy. And what better way to feel seen than with a packet of hair bleach and semipermanent dye?

I certainly wouldn’t be the first woman in history to use hair color as a means of participating in a seismic cultural shift. Rebellious flappers mimicking Clara Bow and Theda Bara went jet black to mark the carefree excess of the postwar era, while the atomic blondes of the 1950s defied the dowdy-housewife persona, offering a prescient glimpse of the women’sempowerment movement on the horizon; in the ’80s, neon hues gave punks the visual apparatus to reject Reaganism’s push toward conservative family values. The COVID era

HEAD STRONG

Fluent in icy blues, acid yellows, and everything in between, Brownsell excels in creating lived-in hair color that speaks to the emotion—and the reality—of the moment. will similarly be colored by stained fingertips and splattered linens, relics of the year when boxed dye and Zoom consultations were the closest we could get to a salon appointment.

But what about the post-COVID era? If the fall collections are any indication, our latter-day summer of love (and meals with friends, and hugs with septuagenarians, and sweaty nights in bars) will be tinted with the acid yellows and flame oranges that cropped up on models at Marni and Gabriela Hearst; the bleach-white strands at Khaite; and the ravey wigs and saturated, single- processed dye jobs on the runway at Dolce & Gabbana— to say nothing of the TikTokers in my neighborhood, whose deep- aqua, shimmery- pink, and slime- green strands bounced along to choreography in front of the Hollywood sign even as the pandemic raged on. Anything for good content.

“Everybody’s going for different shades of coppers, reds, and oranges— it’s suddenly having a huge moment,” explains colorist Alex Brownsell, the cofounder and creative director of Bleach London. Brownsell has just joined me on a Zoom call from the U.K., where she is waiting on final visa certifications before she can fly to Los Angeles to oversee the finishing touches on her U.S. flagship salon, opening this month. “By the time summer hits, it’s going to be the color of the season,” she says, noting the undeniable influence of Bella Hadid’s Ginger Spice–inspired streaks, which went viral earlier this year.

As hair-color prognosticators go, Brownsell is

the beauty industry’s Susan Miller. A master of transformative dye jobs, the 33-year-old has been steering the hair-color conversation since 2010, when she moved out of her kitchen and started Bleach London with two chairs in the back of the original Dalston location of Sharmadean Reid’s Wah Nails. The British-born hairstylist—who trained as a colorist in her mother’s salon in the Midlands before graduating to editorial work and the glossy halls of Hershesons— is known for her potent colors and experimental, head- turning hair moments. Florence Welch’s auburn layers, Rita Ora’s pastel mermaid waves, and Georgia Jagger’s magenta blowouts have all come courtesy of Brownsell’s deft hand. A clubhouse for fashion mavens and subculture kids, Bleach became known as the place to go for experimentation—and inspiration. “It was quite wild, actually, a bit like a party,” Brownsell recalls of those early days. “You’re classically sold trying to look beautiful and pretty and sexy and elegant and young. And what I tried to create with Bleach was the opposite.”

Three stand-alone London salons followed, as well as a cult- favorite product line—16 curated color blends, plus toner and bleach kits, as well as color- care and styling aids, readily available in Europe only—that enabled novices and “hair chameleons” to experiment at home. At the center of it all was Brownsell’s unparalleled skill with pigments. “She’s an alchemist,” says Jagger, who has gone from loyal client to investor and co-owner of the brand. “I’d go to her apartment, and she’d have Ziploc bags with a highlighter or a bit of fabric, and she’d be color matching them.” It wasn’t long before fashion houses took note. Six years ago, Brownsell began working with Gucci on its campaigns, overseeing all of the hairstyling, color, and wigs to achieve the soft and raw looks dreamed up by creative director Alessandro Michele. After Hedi Slimane took over at Celine in 2018, he tapped Brownsell to create the kind of lived-in color that abets the effortless, romantic, e-boy vibe of his men’s collections. Distinguishing between a Gucci blonde (“cinematic and creamy”), a Celine blonde (“punk and not toned”), and a Vetements blonde (“hard silhouettes and solid shapes”) offers a glimpse at the nuance of Brownsell’s artistry, which is best described as precisely imprecise. “What I prefer is that everything looks a bit home done,” she says, “and that’s the thing about Bleach.

We’re doing it perfectly, but it doesn’t look like you just went to the salon.”

When COVID hit the U.K. last winter, Brownsell’s “home done” approach felt almost prophetic. During lockdown, Bleach accelerated a digitalconsultation platform that had already been in the works, and saw massive interest in its free, one-on-one consultations with stylists who advise on color, products for hair type, and step-by-step application. “Every generation discovers dyeing their hair, and we’re just seeing teenagers discover that on their platforms,” Brownsell notes, explaining that for the TikTok generation, which has been in lockdown for a year, DIY dye jobs have become “one of those activities—like baking banana bread.” What’s different in this moment, she observes, is that first-timers—and old-timers—are much more willing to jump into the deep end: choosing more vivid tones or using two or more colors to create a look with bleach bits, root clashes, and ombré styles.

These are the customers Brownsell is hoping to attract when Bleach London arrives in West Hollywood and begins selling its products in the U.S. “We want to be the top people in America, like we are in the U.K., for performing allover bleach and still having healthy hair,” explains Jagger. The model is giving me a tour of the new 1,072-square-foot space on a busy block in Beverly Grove, conveniently situated next to Little House Confections and opposite Verve Coffee. Still a work in progress, it has been designed with a nod to Brownsell’s love of ASMR (sounds of scissors cutting, hair being painted, and swirling sink water will be piped in for ambience). The sleek, prismlike interior features reflective surfaces, frosted glass, and inflated chrome, explains Jagger, pointing to the floor where an epoxy swirl inspired by Gaetano Pesce furniture will soon merge with a black backsplash that has been carved from Mexican volcanic stone. The bathroom, with floor-to-ceiling citrus tiles, is optimal for selfies. Part showroom, part retail store, part full-service salon with just four chairs and workstations for stylists—including Brownsell, who will be taking clients for the first time in 10 years—the vibe is supposed to feel like “the opposite of posh and stuffy,

like you’re at your friend’s house and want to experiment,” Brownsell tells me. “I’m interested in people who want to invest that time in their look,” she continues of the styling options clients can expect from Bleach London, including its premier, 360-degree color experience: inspiration, cut, color, post-appointment toning sessions, and a prescription for an at-home routine. They will need to invest their money, too; the bespoke service will start at $500. “You come into the salon if you want to buy the Birkin of bleaching,” Brownsell says. “Otherwise, you can basically do it all yourself.”

This revelation—that individuals are in fact capable of at- home hair color, and that amateur mistakes can actually be a good thing—isn’t a disservice to Brownsell’s business model but another testament to its necessity. She has no plans to discontinue the digital consultations she and her team have been giving all year once the pandemic is behind us, which is great news for those of us who will likely still have a hard time making it out of the house (and getting an appointment). “The great thing about doing your color yourself is that you’ll be really happy with the result, because you’ll just be proud that you did anything,” she tells me over Zoom as I am dangling strands of my hair—sectioned, back-combed, and lathered with her Total Bleach Kit—toward the screen for her approval as the mixture lifts my natural brown and creates a canvas for a happy, golden-blonde color called Just Like Honey. “Go for it with your hands—just kind of mash it through,” Brownsell directs in a simultaneously corrective, patient, serene, and interpersonal tone (Jagger calls her a “hairapist”). “Yeah, lovely. Uneven is good—although streaks are very in right now,” she continues.

Two hours of prepping, bleaching, toning, and coloring later, it’s time to wash out the dye. I unclip, rinse, brush out, and dry my hair—noticing one stark white streak amid the caramel-colored tones. “I forgot to do that part!” I exclaim, realizing that I’d clipped a lone section to the back of my head and neglected to incorporate it into the others. We both decide that the error actually looks good. “See, that’s why it’s nice to dye your hair yourself—because you can’t get mistakes when you have it done properly!” exclaims Brownsell. “Those are the colors we’re trying to do. When I’m doing it for Vetements or Celine, I’m thinking, If somebody just had this in their hand, how would they put it on?”

little thing I wanted. There was always cocaine on the desk, and everyone’s telling you that you are amazing. A lot of fashion designers do not survive that. So [your] depiction of those kinds of temper tantrums and shortness with people, all of that—at least in my own personal experience— was very accurate. And of course it was accurate for Halston.

HB: Ryan, it’s very unflinching, your approach. As I understand it, this is a project that’s been in development for 25 years. Do you think you could have been as unflinching in the early days of the genesis of this?

RM: No, I don’t. Television has changed a lot, particularly in the streaming world. I used to spend half my career fighting with standards-and-practices about “Why can’t I show this? Why can’t I do this?” It was always about sex, too—it was never about violence. But we never had a single note about any of the sexuality or the depiction of drug abuse—to me, they went hand in hand with the piece. So we were able to make something that was, I felt, really accurate.

TF: I felt the sex was very tame.

RM: You did?

TF: I mean, I’m sort of kidding, I’m sort of not kidding. I remember that balcony at Studio 54: You went up there to have sex. You’ve got that scene where Victor [Hugo, Halston’s lover, played by Gian Franco Rodriguez] is having sex with a guy and Halston looks up and sees it: totally, totally, totally accurate.

RM: It was interesting when we were researching it because Halston, I think, used drugs and sex as a release from the pressure, from the creation, from the worry of having the lights turned off, and we made sure to dramatize that. Many creative people burn out from too much sex, too much drugs or alcohol, too much pressure. So we wanted to be careful to make that part of his creative experience. I was really interested in the fact that the one big love affair of his life was with Victor Hugo. He really did try and make a romantic go of that until Victor basically let him know that that wasn’t going to happen. Once that happened, he just became an out-of-control personality where anything and everything was available to him. He really wasn’t able to pull out of that.

HB: Tom, what else do you think we can learn from Halston— from the arc of his career, from his talent, and maybe the mistakes?

TF: Remember: This country was founded by Puritans, and Americans have always been afraid of too much style. I lived for 30 years in Europe, and there is a totally different sensibility and a completely different sort of acceptance of style. That American sensibility—that pared-down, almost no jewelry, no ornament, no bows, no anything. . . . It’s about catching the zeitgeist and finding the right time. That sensibility at that moment in time, worldwide, was the right thing. That, to me, is what he was able to capture.

RM: Has there ever been a particular period of your life that was most influenced by Halston?

TF: Probably the mid-’90s. I did these white, very simple dresses with cutouts in different parts of the body. Elsa Peretti–esque hardware that was set on the body and revealed by the dress. But I mean, I went to architecture school—Mies van der Rohe was my God, in a way. The thing about Halston is you get to have the severity of that minimalism, but you get that tactile luxe that you didn’t necessarily get with the ’20s and ’30s version of

that minimalism. My urban aesthetic is very definitely still that kind of ’70s, very glamorous, slick, lacquer, glass, luxurious minimalism.

RM: I feel the same—I never got away from that influence that I loved when I was 13, 14, 15.

TF: You don’t. The first time you see beautiful things when you’re growing up, I think that aesthetic stays with you. The very first time you see a beautiful house, a beautiful apartment that moves you, a beautiful woman or a beautiful man, that forms [ you]— the same way that food you ate as a kid does. I mean, give me a Hostess Twinkie and I’m pretty happy, still to this day.

But back to influences: I mean, the Battle of Versailles! [The so-called Battle of Versailles, a glamorous fundraiser held in 1973 and organized by PR doyenne Eleanor Lambert and Versailles curator Gerald Van der Kemp, pitted Parisian haute couture designers against a quintet of American designers, including Halston, with a performance by Liza Minnelli and a cabine that featured 10 Black models.] Liza’s performance, and at that moment of her career—it wasn’t so much the clothes, it’s who’s wearing the clothes and what they’re doing in the clothes. I’m not taking anything away from the clothes—I’m just saying that when I have a show, I think very much about the theater of it. What is the music? How does it feel? How does it look? What world are you creating? That world that you created in that episode. . . . I liked that you had Joe Eula painting the Eiffel Tower because of course, famously—in the fashion world, everybody would know it— he had made it all the wrong size. I thought it was brilliant.

RM: One of the things I love the most about that sequence, and indeed the entire performance, was about the relationship between Halston and Liza. It’s in her kindness and his kindness toward her, and sticking with someone through thick and thin. That was the heartbeat of the piece. Before we shot, Ewan met Liza and talked to her about Halston, and it was a very private conversation but a very emotional, heartfelt one. I’m glad that we get to bring that relationship forward because I think people forget about that and how both of them were such amazing powerhouses at that time.

People also forget this about Halston, but he was one of the first to demand African-American models in all of his shows, which at that point was really not done. He demanded it and nurtured many of those relationships with women like Pat Cleveland. He was so vanguard.

TF: Pat Cleveland used to twirl down the runway. I was lucky enough to photograph Pat myself, and I felt like I was taking cocaine again. I left after shooting her for three hours, and I just thought, Oh, my God—this is why everyone wanted to work with her. She has this amazing energy. Back then, fashion models smiled, and they looked joyful in the clothes. They didn’t look miserable and depressed in their $30,000 dresses.

RM: I think we worked really hard to show a full portrait of not just a fashion designer but what it’s like to be an artist—and the temptations of that, and the temptations when the world tells you, Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. And then, suddenly, a real hard no.

TF: Let’s hope we never get that hard no, Ryan.

RM: Never a hard no.

TF: Never.

TO PLAY THE CONFIDENT, FIRE- WIELDING fairy Bloom in Netflix’s fantasy hit Fate: The Winx Saga, Gainesville, Florida–born actress Abigail Cowen had to learn to be comfortable in her own skin. “I decided to let it go,” she says of old hang-ups, which helped her find her footing in the series with an overarching message of self-acceptance. It was an evolution for Cowen, who was homeschooled in eighth grade after she was subjected to intense bullying for her red hair and freckles. But that experience ultimately contributed to a certain amount of character growth for the now 23-year-old—not to mention her ability to slip in and out of other characters: Cowen will next appear in Redeeming Love, a film adaptation of the 1991 best seller by Francine Rivers about human trafficking in 1850s California. “When you get older, you start to realize that what you hated about yourself is actually what makes you special,” she says, especially when that thing becomes an unlikely beauty trend. Makeup artist Erin Parsons added smatterings of idiosyncratic spots on cheeks at Jason Wu’s spring collection, while intrepid TikTok users have been employing temporary filters and semipermanent henna dye for flecks that provide a sun-kissed effect, even in lockdown. Adds Parsons, who used Wu’s new faux-freckle marker at his show, the effect “brings the vacation to us!” —