Baby A and I were blonde during childhood. Blonde. Not towheaded, but... blonde. (I called it "more yellow than white" to my hairstylist. She thinks me and my inexperience in the ways of the world of hair are amusing.)
And then we got older and it changed to "dirty blonde." And it kinda got to a point where, really, it was brown. Particularly in winter when sun+chlorine don't work their magic.
Long story short, Baby A decides, after talking about it off and on for years, that she's going to go blonder. The decision fell to me: to dye or not to dye?
"Wait," you may be thinking. "Baby A is the fun one*, so why didn't she just jump right on that foil bandwagon and ride off into the golden sunset?" Our mother was sooooo anti-dye for the longest time. Then time went on and Mom succumbed to highlights. The decision to put "those chemicals" in her hair was probably less difficult than knowing she no longer had room to talk. Heh.
I did decide to get highlights. Not because I was so concerned that wemustlookexactlyalike but because if you can't do something fun and crazy with your hair during college, really, when can you? I just called partial highlights "fun and crazy." You have my permission to laugh. Like I said, my stylist does.
And, no, our hair color is not the same anymore. Baby A ended up blonder with more color overall. And that's A-OK with us.
*True story. I'll tell it some time.