Typically, Sunday is not a high traffic day for this blog. So I'm going to wade into shallow waters. Let's talk about hair.
Last week, after learning that I'd lost performance work, I decided that I needed to find ways to cut expenses. The first thing that came to mind was my hair. As a natural brunette, it costs bukoo bucks for me to be blond. It's a two process procedure (to attain those 'natural' multiple shades) and, as my hair grows fast, it means frequent trips to avoid icky roots. Even Hollywood celebs look a little on the trashy side with two-inches of dark growth, doncha think?
At any rate, at this point in time, being blond seemed a little frivolous. I told myself that it was time to give my hair a break anyway. It's starting to look damaged. I told myself that I could could ear-mark the money I'd save for book promotion. I told myself that I change my hair color more often than Madonna, it's not like going dark was a big deal.
So why did it feel like a big deal? What's so awful about being a brunette? I was born that way. It's the real me. The thought occurred to me that perhaps, deep down, I feared the real me wasn't pretty enough, glamorous enough. That blonds are perceived as sexy and fun, and ... youthful. It occurred to me that I'd been brainwashed by the media, that I'd sold out a little in my effort to appeal to the casino execs who make the entertainment buying decisions. Lightening my hair was a simple way to cheat nature, to look a little younger, more vibrant. I'm not about to indulge in Botox, plastic surgery or breast implants. I'm not even willing to frequent a tanning salon to attain that beach-babe glow, although I confess I did try one of those new self-tanning lotions. Kind of cool, but too much maintanance. So I'm unbelievably pale. What's wrong with that? I was born that way.
Just as I was born a brunette. Suddenly, going back to my roots felt like a statement of sorts. I'm comfortable with who I am. The real me is confident in her natural beauty. Well, mostly. Due to nature, grey hairs are now in the mix. I'm not that rebellious. Not yet anyway. Maybe some day down the pike. I mean Emmy Lou Harris gave into her silver/grey and she looks pretty darn unique.
I thought my hair dresser was going to cry when I informed her of my decision. She's adventurous and to her, one-process hair coloring is boring. I mean it's not like I asked for an all over Kool-aid blue or red. I asked for plain ol' dark brown. Thing is, now that it's done, I don't feel plain or boring. It's kind of striking, the dark hair against my pale skin. I look like me when I was fifteen, minus freckles across my nose, plus wrinkles edging my eyes. I'm not saying that I won't change my color in the future, that I'll never go blond again, because just about the only adventurous streak I have, extends to experimenting with hair color. But for now, it feels good to be 'me'. I feel oddly content and energized.
My friend, Shelly, sent me a fabulous article concerning beauty and older women. It just so happens to target women in entertainment and it has to do with life experience and confidence. It's a concept I'm striving to accept.
How about you? Do you feel pressured, whether male or female, to alter your appearence? Do magazines, television, and movies influence your perception of what's physically attractive?
Hmm. Maybe these waters weren't so shallow after all.