Some Like It Blonde

The condition of my hair seems to have become a crude barometer of my dating life. Whenever I find myself liking a man enough to shave my legs every day (oh come on, don't pretend I do not speak the truth), I either go blonde to brunette or brunette to blonde. But more often than not, it's the latter. I guess it's a good thing dating in this city is as painful as watching a Raiders game or I'd be bald.

What follows is a brief account of my addiction to bleach as well as a wham bam history regarding hair color and my personal observations regarding social stereotypes based on hair color. I think I kind of yawned just writing that sentence.

I have never needed much encouragement before picking up the bleach bottle in the name of love, like or boredom. My love affair with hair dye began long ago. Age 13 I think. Circa 1994 or 5, during my vintage Drew Barrymore obsession. In the style of Ms. B, I plucked my eyebrows into a memory. Gross. I managed to damage the next several years of Polaroid moments. Whenever I look at old albums I always wonder, who is this weird girl with no eyebrows? Oh wait, it's me! Nice tie dye shirt too, dork. After destroying my eyebrows, I needed to go blonde. Peroxiiiiiide. Stripped down to my knickers, I proceeded to soak my hair in a sink full of Clorox bleach. Brilliant. An hour later I smelled like eau de chlorinated gym pool and my hair formed in crispy dreadlocks. The color remained unchanged, a drab shade of ash brown. A harsh lesson on the difference between household bleach and salon grade peroxide that unfortunately did not prevent a lifetime obsession from spawning.

I am not alone. The peroxide plague dates back to Paris in the late 19th century. Prior, the en vogue color varied. Red in Egypt, blonde in Rome. During the Baroque, black or blue. Pink and powdered for the rococo vixen. Then in 1867 Paris, peroxide for hair was introduced at the World Fair. 3% peroxide. Damn you Parisians. Brie, champagne and peroxide, the trinity that tortures me like the most accursed affliction.

Peroxide gave birth to the platinum starlet of pre-Technicolor Hollywood. How it happened or why, I am not sure, but over time blonde and bombshell merged to create the blonde bombshell.
Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, Betty Grable, Jayne Mansfield all played the dumb oversexualized blonde to perfection. Hitchcock's preference for platinum leads supposedly stemmed from his belief that blondes are the least suspect among suspects. So was it Hollywood? Somehow someway it was somehow perpetuated that blondes have more fun and gentlemen prefer blondes. You still had your Rita Hayworths and Ava Gardners, but the others didn't evoke inane connotations to the same degree as the blonde.

I don't know many gentlemen, but as somebody who frequents both sides of the spectrum, I have my thoughts.

Do blondes have more fun? Blondes attract more Affliction-wearing divorcee dads who shoot up with growth hormone. Not my type of fun. If anything, blondes suffer from more tension headaches. This might be a problem more unique to LA.

Do gentlemen prefer blondes? Studies say it's 50-50. I think gentlemen prefer attractive. What's attractive depends on the individual. Look at Katherine McPhee right now. Not. Good. If you don't know who Katherine McPhee is, I question our friendship.

In accord with the studies, I don't think there is a preference. I just think that Blonde and the blonde are two separate entities. Blondes get called "blondie," but note the lack of a similar label for their darker tressed counterparts. I still remember being chased down the escalator at a subway station by a homeless man screaming "Blondie!!!! Blondie!!!!! Dance for me, blondie!!!!!" What would he have said had I been brunette? "Girl in the pink sweats!!!!! Dance for me!!!!!" doesn't work as well, does it? He was obviously kind of crazy. I wonder what kind of dance he expected me to perform in the middle of the Durant BART station.

These are provoking thoughts, indeed. But don't blame me. I've been playing the alphabet game with my coworkers. Two rounds of countries, one round of TV shows, one round of movie titles, a single round of drinks. I did best at the last. Appletini, bellini, cosmopolitian, daquiri...