I recently decided to dye my hair from the bleach blonde of the past 25 years to a dark, reddish brown. Quarter-life crisis? Maybe. Initially, I like, really liked it. However, the startled and shocked expressions on the faces of those I knew as a blonde have been less than encouraging. “Why? Why did you do that??” they demand, like there’s ever a logical reason for coloring one’s hair. I find myself stumbling over justification with every person I know. “Uh, well, I…wanted a change?” Obviously. Or perhaps I’m on the run from the law? The sad part is that explanation has the potential to be witty and funny but I just can’t muster up the wherewithal to properly arrange the sentence to come out of my mouth properly. I’ve tried it. Embarrassing results. It’s like when you try to do an impression of Sean Connery and it’s just not quite right or…funny. You can’t really take it back or pretend like it didn’t happen, it’s out there, man. And you’ve got no defense, just the color creeping to your cheeks and regret filled laughter, which you think might mask your folly. But I digress, back to the matter at hand. After three weeks as a brunette I do not feel qualified to put an answer to the statement “blondes have more fun” however I am able to testify to a few differences. 1) You no longer get the blonde moment to fall back on. As if hair color ever dictated my sometimes space cadet realizations. 2) People are no longer "cutesy" with me. I get far fewer winks from old men. Not that I miss that. 3) People have said I look "smarter". Huh. Wonder what they would think if I wore my glasses.
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