Filed under: random | Tags: hair, looks, sometimes i should probably save these posts as drafts
Then I would have had more fun and have an excuse for being so dizzy.
I kid of course; I could never be that dizzy.
All crappy jokes aside though – I do sometimes wonder if blondes really have more fun…
When I was four, my family moved to London. It was the eighties, and familiarly enough, there were no jobs in Ireland. Fortunately, I made friends quickly enough due to my quirky ‘Irishness’ that the other kids seemed to get a kick out of. Soon enough, I had a best pal called Elizabeth who had the most delightful Cockney accent you could imagine. Along with this, she had bright blue eyes, a button nose, an infectious smile and most importantly, two fat blonde pigtails. I adored her. She was good natured, a little shy, but with a cheeky giggle that always got me into trouble. I on the other hand, was pale, with dark brown eyes and a glossy but short black bob. Even at the ridiculously young age of four, I was jealous of Elizabeth’s colour and verve. So jealous that when I got a Barbie doll for my fifth birthday, I defiantly flushed her down the toilet in blonde rebellion. Even my doll that wet her knickers had yellow hair. If only they had Dora’s back then.
When my family moved back to Ireland, I joined a class with even more fair headed children. The popular (read: loudest) group were mostly of the blonde variety. None of them were particularly striking or extraordinarily pretty – no more than most of the other girls – but they had a confident air about them that all around were drawn to. You could hear their vivacious laughter from across the yard, long before you saw them coming. As we evolved in to secondary school students, the hair stayed the same while the laughter grew louder and sharper. I wasn’t envious as such, just curious of what made them so different from me – a quiet little thing who smoked in the toilets at lunch.
Now that I’m older, and moved on from hair colour obsessions (we hope), I still see in a lot of my blonde friends that spark of confidence that I’ve never had. That self knowing smile; the glint of mischief in their eyes.
Maybe it’s all in my head. Maybe I should blame my mother for cutting my hair short when I was little, when all the other girls had flowing curls and pretty red bows. Maybe I should blame the media.
Maybe I should stop being so dizzy.
5 Comments so far
Leave a comment