I went blonde for eight months. It was a gradual thing. Started with some highlights, then more lights, then all over lights, then blonde.
My daughter never approved.
Mama, you are a brunette. A dark brunette. That’s you. Pleaaaaasssse don’t go blonde.
Aww, honey, I love you soooooo much. But, sorry, I’m doing it.
Susan, no offense, but you will look awful, I mean truly hideous as a blonde.
My mom said nothing… which said everything.
My ex boyfriend said… well, he didn’t care either way since we were broken up.
So, for eight months I became a blonde. And with it also came a costly upkeep, dried out hair, some thumbs up, some thumbs down, and even a day when I showed up to meet my mom for plans and she didn’t recognize me.
And through it all I kept getting asked the same question.
Susan, do blondes have more fun?
And I kept answering the same way,
I always have fun.
But, honestly, the last eight months have been romantically some of the dullest months of my life. Partly by choice, but still… no one was swinging from chandeliers over here in Studio City. I got hit on more when I was pregnant.
However, I did notice one very startling thing — men look. It didn’t matter if I was wearing a mini dress or flannel pajamas to walk my dog – men see blonde hair and they turn, look, gaze, smile. It was strange.
And a bit unnerving.
Suddenly I felt a little less anonymous. Going to the market required more than Chapstick. Wearing something other than paint splattered sweats and a Sea World sweatshirt to drop my daughter off at school seemed necessary. Going outside to scoop dog crap off the grass… well, let’s just say bra-less was no longer an option.
Now, this isn’t to say men asked me out or even thought I was pretty. In fact, I have had exactly 1 date since being a blonde. But the hair, the color, something about it must be like a dog whistle that only men can hear because 99.9 percent of the time they turned to look.
I remember seeing a documentary about the color red. That when a woman wears it men respond. They tested their theory by having a woman wear a white dress. For an hour they filmed her on the street and for an hour men walked passed her without so much as a glance. Then they had that very same woman wear the very same dress but in red. For an hour men looked at her, smiled at her, turned around to look at her again and well…
That was the blonde effect for me. My hair was a friggin’ red dress.
So, to sum up all this pointless stuff, for eight months I neither had more fun nor did I feel dumber or hotter. I found the color orange looked better on me, red lipstick didn’t, and my daughter never liked it.
I’ve returned to my roots (literally) and am safely back to the Veronica brunette vs the blonde Betty.
Oh and happily walking the dog bra-less in my pajamas.