So, in theory, this was a great idea.
My entire life, I was the only blonde in my brunette family. People always looked at my parents and marvelled in the fact that they had had this daughter with a mop of barbie blonde hair - something which, without realising, I took for granted.
All through my last year of high school, I toyed with the thought of dying my hair brown. For some reason, it seemed like it would solve all my problems. In my head I had made this whole thing about how being blonde made people think I was stupid and I wanted to prove that I was ‘more than just a blonde’. Even though Ive watched legally blonde too many times to count, I always rolled my eyes at the part where Emmett tells Elle that being a blonde is a powerful thing, that you hold more cards than people think. Yeah right, I would mutter, before going back to hating my blonde and pining over every dark headed girl on Pinterest.
I toned it darker, I got foils, I got a balayage, I got highlights - I got the works, all in attempts to see this ‘brunette change’ I had been so desperate to see. None of them did jack shit, and I wasted all up probably $700. I know. But, I was desperate. High school finished - finally -, I saved enough money, and booked an appointment at a new salon, without telling anyone. Bar Mum of course, she would have shot me if I hadn’t told her. “Tell them you want it ‘light brown, dark blonde even” She warned cautiously. Mums have this annoying ability to somehow always be right, despite how much you truly believe in the moment they are not. I internally scoffed at her, externally said “Will do” and went on my merry way, practically bursting with excitement. This was it. I was finally going to be a brunette. “I love working on blondes!” Was the first thing the hairdresser said when I sat down. Gulp. “Im actually wanting to dye it. Brown” Warning sign number 2. “Are you sure?” She asked for the thousandth time, holding the dye in her hand ready to lather on to my gold locks. Yes. I was sure. Was I? Yes. I think.
Four hours later, I was done. I had been waiting for this grand reveal, and when it finally showed, I honestly didn’t know how to react. “How do you like it?” The hairdressers asked eagerly. Its about two shades away from black. Not like the soft light brown in the picture I showed her. Maybe I was shocked that my reflection wasn’t just not the hair of the girl in the picture, but also not the face. It was just, my face. Plain old me. With super dark hair. There were no fireworks or a big spontaneous musical number, just a hairdresser looking eagerly over my shoulder. “I love it. Its perfect” I grin.
$460 later ( Of course I had to buy the shampoo and conditioner to make sure my black hair stayed black ) I left the salon, feeling like a completely different person. Nah. I felt like little old me. Afraid to make eye contact with strangers and say no to over priced shampoo. The confidence I was sure would come with the hair, never came.
Showing my friends, I must admit, was fun. And pretty much every reaction has been positive - everyone from my neighbour to my Nana saying it looks like it could be my natural hair. But its not. Its not my beautiful blonde hair with natural high and low lights, that I will never ever get back. Its just - brown.
About a month has passed and Im about another month from starting uni. Will I start uni as a brunette? The people I meet will have never known me as a blonde - which has been my main identifier for 18 years. Will I be a brunette at my wedding? Will I be, for the rest of my life, a brunette? Will I pluck up the courage and swallow my pride, and go back and dye it blonde and hope it all fades into something I can keep up with?
Its now faded to a weird reddish brown, which annoys me and makes my face look round according to mum.
Being blonde was something I never knew was a necessity. It was my power, and as Emmett said, It meant I held more cards than others thought. More cards than I thought. I wanted to be like all the brunettes I saw on television or online or in magazines - you know the ones who were cool and confident and smart and had the perfect life. What I’m realising as I write this is, ( pause for a small violin and brace yourself for some school essay theme soppy shit) that they weren’t those things because of their hair colour, like I guess I had linked it to in my head. They are those things cause, well thats just who they are. Brunette or not.
And I know, I know, Its just hair. And thats true, it is. I could shave it all off tomorrow and it’d grow back. I could dye it blue and then re-dye it pink if I fancied. It is just hair. But also somehow, its so much more than that, And I wish I had the words to say how it is more than it is, but I don’t. I wanted to have brown hair and now I have it. Nothing else to it. But I think, actually, Im going to surrender my white flag. Or I guess I could say, blonde flag.
I hate it when mums right.