As Father Time marched on, he march right over
top of me and left his snowy boot print in my hair. Consequently, by age 30 I
began the fight against grey. By age 40 the troops were retreating and now at
age 50 the troops have gone AWOL and I am now at least 75% grey.
I take after my father's side of
the family which is Spanish, Italian and Irish/British. Every grandchild looks
like my grandmother's side of the family...fair skin and eyes and very dark
brown hair (with the exception of one cousin who is an exotic beauty but could
never embrace it when she was younger). My grandmother was certainly the matriarch
of the family and she prized blonde hair. Where she got the idea that everyone looks
better blonde I have no clue, but we all, with varying amounts of success,
tried to go blonde. I started in my teen and could never get lighter than a
brassy, strawberry blonde. The kind you see on hookers.
Then Father Time paid me that
visit and as my brown hair turned white I was able to go blonder and blonder
until I achieved what the hair color industry calls "banana peel
blonde" (I kid you not, it's a real term). I was ecstatic! The battle with
my hair was finally over, I was going to defy age by being blonde! (whoever fed
that little pearl of wisdom to us should
be shot, its not true).
I remember the first day I was
truly, finally blonde, with no hint of red. I bought new makeup (because I was
fighting my cool complexion by having warm toned hair) and could have sworn I
lost 15 years off my face.
It's been about 3 years now that
I have been blonde and I still look in the mirror and wonder who that is
staring back at me. I don't look younger, I look colorless and tired. My hair
has no shine or life to it. I keep it piled up in a clip on top of my head most
of the time. But the worst part is that I never felt like myself. I thought the
feeling would go away after a while but even after 3 years, when I blow dry my
hair, it is not me staring back out of the mirror. I am the quiet bookworm with
the brown hair and occasional glasses. Not this bleached blonde who is trying
to look younger than she is. I felt I belonged at the mall more than the
library and that really messed with my sense of self.
While I was getting used to the
new color I decided to make mental notes about how people treated me, to see if
blondes really do have more fun.
I discount the first couple of
months because I was so happy I think my upbeat personality changed how people
treated me more than my hair color. So once I got used to it I began
Young Men: They may as well say
"MILF" and put their eyes back into their heads
Older Men: A thought bubble
appears over their heads that says "trophy wife"
Younger Girls: They have no time
for anything but their own reflection so they are discounted.
Older Women: The ones with fully
grey hair try to convince me mine will be lovely and it will not age me. Funny
but no one my age has ever said that, the ones that say it have all been 65-80
years old and yes, when I am that age I will let nature take its course but
stop trying to initiate me into the Grey Hair We Don't Care club too early.
Women My Age: Either tell me to stop
fussing and let nature handle it or tell me the blonde is terrible on me. The
opinion had nothing to do with what they did with their hair as far as I could
see.
Children: Interestingly, children
were much more open to coming to me when I was a blonde. If I approached a lost
child as a brunette they shied away but as a blonde they held on to me like I
was Mommy. I cannot explain this unless their mothers also dyed their hair
blonde.
As a brunette, my little verbal
mistakes, my inability to do math, my forgetfulness and lack of directional
skills was always looked at as sort of the absent minded professor syndrome.
People knew I was smart and allowed for idiosyncratic behavior. As a blonde? I
got NO slack. Anything I did that was not perfect or at a genius level I got
called "blonde" or "Are you having a blonde moment?" Not
fair, and I am sure very frustrating to all the smart, naturally blonde women
out there. I felt like I was constantly trying to prove I had a brain, that I
was not some dumb bimbo. Stiletto heels on a brunette are sexy, on a blonde
they are trashy. (Sorry natural blondes, I am calling them as i am seeing
them).
I found the stereotypes are true.
I was more apt to be flirted with, ogled, and looked upon as an object when
blonde. Men would convey the same interest in me as a brunette, but with more class
and more respect. As a blonde it was cat calls, as a brunette is was
"pretty eyes". Even clerks, regardless of gender, were more friendly
to me, as were waiters/waitresses. It's almost as if blondes are seen as stupid
but warm hearted and brunettes are seen as smart and cold hearted. Neither of
which is acceptable! Men have a habit, no matter how "liberated" they
re, of talking over women but as a blonde, you cant get word in anywhere...and
they ask why I am shouting. Oh and all these observations hold true
Today I went back to being a
brunette. I feel like myself. I am comfortable in my own skin again. I can only
explain it as I am me and I am sure if I was born blonde and went brunette for
3 years I would feel the same.
But let me speak for the unheard
minority out there. The downtrodden who do not even realize it. We are women
who are smart, creative, powerful and nurturing and, like our breast size, our
hair color is no indication of what goes on on the inside.
