Blake Shelton had always been a hands-on stepdad, the kind who’d toss a football with Gwen Stefani’s boys or sneak them extra ice cream when their mom wasn’t looking. But in the summer of 2025, as Kingston, Gwen’s eldest son, hit 19 and leaned hard into his teenage rebellion, Blake faced a new challenge: keeping up with a kid who idolized his mother’s punk-rock legacy. Kingston, with his lanky frame and sharp wit, had recently discovered Gwen’s No Doubt days, blasting “Just a Girl” in his room and sketching skull tattoos in his notebook. So when he announced he wanted to dye his hair green to channel Gwen’s early-’90s vibe, Blake saw a chance to cement his “cool dad” status. “I got this, buddy,” Blake said, clapping Kingston on the shoulder. “We’ll make you look like a rock star.”
Their Los Angeles home, a sprawling oasis of palm trees and modern art, was buzzing with its usual chaos. Gwen was out for a meeting about her GXVE Beauty line, leaving Blake in charge of Kingston, Zuma (16), and Apollo (11). The boys were sprawled across the living room, Zuma strumming a guitar and Apollo building a Lego fortress with their dog, Betty, napping nearby. Blake, in his favorite plaid shirt and worn jeans, led Kingston to the upstairs bathroom, a space Gwen had decked out with black-and-white tiles and a massive mirror. “This is gonna be epic,” Blake declared, pulling out a drugstore hair dye kit he’d picked up on a covert mission to CVS. The box promised “Vivid Emerald,” and Blake, never one for manuals, tossed the instructions aside. “Dyein’ hair ain’t rocket science,” he said, winking at Kingston. “Your mom’s done this a million times.”
Kingston, sporting a ripped Ramones tee, nodded eagerly, his usual teenage skepticism giving way to excitement. “Just don’t mess it up, Blake,” he teased, settling into a stool. Blake, undeterred, mixed the dye in a plastic bowl, the chemical smell filling the room. The instructions—he’d skimmed them in the car—suggested a careful application, but Blake, used to slathering barbecue sauce on ribs, figured more was better. He glopped on the dye, turning Kingston’s dark hair into a gooey green mess. “Lookin’ good, man,” Blake said, ignoring the fact that he’d used twice the recommended amount. “You’re gonna be the punkest kid in LA.”
Forty minutes later, after a rinse that left the sink looking like a lime soda explosion, Kingston toweled off and glanced in the mirror. His jaw dropped. Instead of the cool, Gwen-inspired green he’d envisioned, his hair was a blazing lime, the kind of color you’d see on a soccer field or a neon sign. “Blake!” Kingston yelped, running his hands through the glowing strands. “I look like the Hulk!”
Blake, standing behind him with the empty dye bottle, froze. “Well, shoot,” he muttered, his Oklahoma drawl thickening with panic. “That’s… a little brighter than I thought.” He checked the bottle, hoping for a miracle, but the label mocked him with its “Vivid” promise. His face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Okay, buddy, don’t panic. We can fix this.”
Before they could strategize, the front door clicked open, and Gwen’s voice echoed upstairs. “I’m home! Where’s my crew?” Blake and Kingston exchanged a look of pure dread, like two kids caught raiding the cookie jar. “Stay cool,” Blake whispered, though his own heart was racing. They shuffled downstairs, Kingston pulling his hoodie over his head, but the neon green peeked out like a warning sign.
Gwen, in a leopard-print jacket and oversized sunglasses, was unloading shopping bags in the kitchen when she spotted them. Her eyes flicked to Kingston’s half-hidden hair, then to Blake, who was clutching the dye bottle like a guilty suspect. “Anh yêu,” she said, her voice a mix of curiosity and amusement, “is this… a work of art?” She tugged Kingston’s hood down, revealing the Hulk-green catastrophe, and her lips twitched. She bit her cheek, clearly fighting a laugh. “Wow, King. That’s bold.”
Kingston, staring at his reflection in a nearby window, suddenly cracked up. “Bố Blake, I look like a superhero!” he said, striking a Hulk pose. “This is so bad it’s kinda awesome.” His laughter broke the tension, and Zuma and Apollo, drawn by the noise, piled into the kitchen. “Whoa, Kingston’s a lime!” Zuma hooted, while Apollo poked his brother’s head, asking, “Can I get blue hair?”
Blake, still red-faced, rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, buddy,” he said to Kingston, then turned to Gwen. “I thought I could handle it. Figured dyein’ hair was like paintin’ a fence.” He held up the bottle, shrugging helplessly. “Guess I overdid it.”
Gwen, her laughter finally escaping as a soft giggle, stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Blake’s waist. “Babe, you’re the sweetest for trying,” she said, her eyes warm. “But maybe leave the punk makeovers to me.” She ruffled Kingston’s glowing hair, unfazed. “King, you’re rocking this. Let’s hit the salon tomorrow—they’ll tone it down to Gwen-green, not Hulk-green.”
The boys, now fully invested, demanded a family vote on Kingston’s hair. Zuma suggested keeping it “for the memes,” while Apollo insisted it made Kingston “the coolest big brother ever.” Blake, grateful for their enthusiasm, chimed in, “Y’all, I’m callin’ it ‘Shelton Signature Green.’ Patent pendin’.” The kitchen dissolved into laughter, Betty barking at the commotion, and Gwen snapped a selfie of the chaos, captioning it “Punk Dad Fail” for her Instagram story.
The next morning, Gwen drove Kingston to her favorite salon in West Hollywood, where a stylist worked magic, turning the lime disaster into a subtle, emerald green that screamed No Doubt nostalgia. Blake, tagging along with Zuma and Apollo, watched from the waiting area, sipping coffee and shaking his head at his own folly. “I’m stickin’ to guitars and grills from now on,” he told Gwen, who leaned against him, her smile radiant.
“You’re a rock star, Blake,” she said, kissing his cheek. “You make everything an adventure, even bad hair days.” Kingston, admiring his new look in the salon mirror, gave Blake a fist bump. “Thanks for trying, Dad,” he said, the word slipping out naturally. Blake’s chest swelled, his embarrassment fading. “Anytime, kid,” he replied, his voice thick. “But next time, we’re goin’ straight to the pros.”
Back home, the Hulk hair saga became family legend. Zuma drew a cartoon of Kingston as a green superhero, which Gwen framed in the living room. Apollo begged for a “superhero hair day” of his own, while Kingston, now proudly sporting his punk look, posted a TikTok thanking “Bố Blake” for the “wildest hair adventure.” Fans ate it up, flooding the comments with heart emojis and calls for Blake to open a salon. Gwen, ever the instigator, teased Blake about launching a “Shelton Punk Hair Dye” line, complete with a neon green shade.
As the summer rolled on, Blake’s misadventure faded into the rhythm of their blended family—music rehearsals, skate park trips, and late-night pizza runs. But every so often, when Kingston’s hair caught the light, Blake would catch Gwen’s eye and grin. “Told ya I’m a cool dad,” he’d say, and she’d laugh, pulling him close. The Hulk hair catastrophe, like all their mishaps, was proof that love, even when it goes neon green, always finds a way to shine.
