From feeling invisible to being ogled by creepy men… can your hair colour wreck your social life?

I’M NOT a fan of change. I find switching mobile phone suppliers traumatic, and my loyalty extends to just the one brand of loo roll.

So it won’t surprise anyone that I’ve been visiting the same hair salon for 14 years, booking half a head of honey-blonde highlights and a trim for my naturally mousey-brown hair every 16 weeks.

6

And I’m not alone in my (expensive) rut, with one study from Clairol finding the average British woman changes her hair colour only three times throughout her life.

But as I edge towards 40, it’s time to throw caution to the wind. After a consultation at Larry King’s salon in South Kensington, London, colourists Harriet Muldoon and Amy Fish agree to take on my challenge.

I decide to try five colours over five weeks, going from lightest (white blonde) to darkest (brunette) to keep damage and fall-out to a minimum.

Crucially, I promise to stick with the one I like the best at the end.

Week 1 — Platinum power

6

It takes two hours for Harriet to bleach out my highlights, giving me bright white locks that would make Daenerys Targaryen jealous.

Seeing the look in the mirror for the first time, I gasp and wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake.

Harriet assures me my reaction is normal, but it’s only once I step outside that my heart stops pounding. In spite of the overcast day, everything seems brighter.

My skin glows, and my eye bags have magically vanished. Over the next few days some colleagues and friends raise an eyebrow, but the feedback is overwhelmingly positive.

I adore my new hair. It’s less greasy as my scalp has been bleached, so styling it in soft waves is a dream. My partner Nick is initially speechless, but then complimentary. When I meet up with my sister Gemma, she only recognises me by my coral coat, but she loves the pale blonde.

I gasp and wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake

Laura JacksonWriter

One person who isn’t impressed, though, is my mum Janet. She doesn’t have to say what she’s thinking – her face screams: “What the hell have you done?” Eventually she mutters: “I preferred it before.”

As the week wears on, I start to agree with her – I’m attracting unwelcome attention from men. I get stared at on the Tube, at the gym and, worst of all, at the supermarket, where a bloke about 20 years older than me glares with such creepy intent that I abandon my trolley mid-shop and hide in the loos.

I’m angry and sad that changing my hair has had this effect. Maybe blondes do have more fun, but by Saturday evening, a few days into the experiment, I feel so uncomfortable that I cancel drinks with friends, hunkering down on the sofa with Netflix instead.

Week 2 — Grey pride

6

With the odd silver strand starting to pop up naturally, I have high hopes this colour could be The One. It’s happening anyway, so why not embrace it? But while the #grannyhair trend might work for Lady Gaga, I worry it’s too cool for me. The day I go grey, though, I score some freelance work after an interview with a trendy media company, and I’m convinced my new look helped.

Later I put on my black-rimmed glasses, thinking they’ll complete the look – but the transformation is more hip op than hipster. I joke I look like Mary Beard (love you Mary, but you’ve nearly three decades on me). As the colour starts to fade after just three washes, I apply thick layers of bronzer to avoid a ghost-like pallor.

Going grey makes me feel completely invisible

Laura JacksonWriter

By day five I’ve gone from platinum perv-magnet to completely invisible, with people pushing past me on the bus and in the queue at Pret. The low point is going to work in a jumper I later realise is speckled with moth holes. The reason I hadn’t noticed? I can’t bear to look in the mirror.

Week 3 — Perfect pink

6

The verdict from the cat is damning. He takes one look at my candy-coloured barnet and immediately darts under a bookcase, where he hides for 40 minutes, shaking. Happily, I get a much warmer reception from humans.

“You look so happy,” says my friend Lucy. I feel it, too – it’s impossible not to be cheerful with pink hair. It attracts attention, but this time from other women asking where I’d got it done.

The look is not without challenges, however. Half my wardrobe clashes, and I have to abandon my coral coat. Plus, this week’s diary is packed with work functions and meetings, including an important dinner at a posh hotel.

Can I get away with this hair? The answer is yes. Nobody bats an eyelid – perhaps because I’ve dressed more carefully than usual in a black-and-gold Ted Baker dress – and my vibrant do is a great icebreaker for networking. Surprisingly, pink is the colour that gets the least judgement from others. Except for the cat, of course.

Week 4 — Copper show-stopper

6

As a teenager, I once blew all my pocket money on a henna kit in a bid to channel Helena Bonham Carter in A Room With A View. I was bitterly disappointed when it turned my hair a lurid Colman’s Mustard yellow, so copper is the shade I’m most nervous about.

Thankfully, the pro job elicits the best reaction yet from friends, and Nick loves it, too. “All the colours have worked,” he says smoothly, “but this one is the most you.”

Most of my clothes complement the rich red, especially a slinky green Zara dress that makes my hazel eyes pop. I wear it for a pal’s birthday drinks that Saturday and feel like a sexy vixen. It even suits me when I’m hungover.

MOST READ IN FABULOUS

MYSTIC MEG

If you start the day single, The One repeats their name at least twice

SUNNY SWITCH

I moved to Spain with my husband & 2 kids, it’s so cheap that I’ve quit my job

CHILD'S PLAY

I invest my £18k child's benefit - trolls say I clearly don't need cash

EVIL EX

I see my ex's abuse each time I look in the mirror, I hid my face for 12 years

Week 5 — Brunette Babe

6

Chocolate locks mean classy, sophisticated and mature, right? Er, not necessarily. Ten minutes after leaving the salon, I’m on a train chatting to an American tourist who asks: “Are you still at school?” I don’t tell her I left uni nearly two decades ago. Later I’m ID’d at my local off-licence, where I have to convince the salesperson that yes, it’s really me in that picture and yes, I was born in 1981. I feel more embarrassed than flattered.

Part of the problem is my too-light eyebrows, which give me the appearance of a youthful alien.

• Thanks to Larry King ().