When I first saw that Anne Hathaway traded her long tresses for a pixie cut my face fell. But I liked her hair!

The actress debuted her newly cropped hair in Paris on the set of the 2011 romantic comedy One Day.

My sadness turned to anger when I considered that the studio might have forced her to change her look for the role. Studios are always doing terrible things like this to actors.

They made Renee Zellweger get fat (ew!) for Bridget Jones's Diary. Christian Bale starved himself for his role as a deranged factory worker in The Machinist. And perhaps most impressive, Tobey Maguire got jockey-light for Seabiscuit only to pack on the muscle mere months later in Spider-Man 2. At least Hathaway’s change wasn’t physically demanding.

However, on further investigation I discovered that the actress was WEARING A WIG!

This makes sense as the film One Day features a time lapse of 20 years and Hollywood’s favorite method of communicating that time has passed (in addition to obvious wardrobe and makeup alterations) is a change in hairstyle. Consider Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally: her hair goes from Farrah Fawcett-feathered to an ‘80s perm, allowing the audience to understand immediately that this is not the same Sally as the beginning of the film. I imagine Hathaway will sport a longer style in later scenes in the film.

Unfortunately my recent hair change was not so temporary. Three months ago in a fit of sheer insanity I dyed my dirty-blonde hair brown. This was the first of a series of huge mistakes (missing the Silversun Pickups show, reconnecting with various ex-boyfriends, forgetting to feed my Tamagotchi, etc.) spiraling me into a dark summer from which I have yet to recover.

It’s not just the brassy color that’s the problem. For instance, the blonde roots make my hair look like it’s thinning. (Dark roots are trashy— yes— but at least you don’t look like you’re balding.)

Then there’s the breakage problem: The dye sucked the life out of my mane and brittle strands often break when combed. To top it off, my tresses feel like hay.

I’ve attempted to remedy the disaster with egg yolk treatments with no results except for an egg-y smell that did not exactly complement my Burberry Brit. In keeping with the food theme, I even tried olive oil and mashed bananas, a concoction that left my hair limp and greasy.

Enough is enough. I’ve finally given up and am seeking the help of professionals. Tomorrow, I will visit Montrose salon Cut Loose, where stylist Ashley promises to save the day.

Will she restore my once brilliant blonde locks or will I walk out with something worse than Hathaway’s pixie-cut wig?