A statuesque blonde strolled by me in the parking lot today. Maybe forty years old she had a lithe body attired in black tank top and lycra leggings, sweater casually knotted at her hips. I envied her relaxed gait and perfect posture. Her confidence was magnetic. She cared not at all how anyone looked at her and because of that people looked.
I went blonde once on the age old theory that it would be more fun. My husband really liked it which brought a few perks. Overall though, I did not feel more elegant. I was not instantly more attractive. It was not an uplifting change. The mirror just reflected a platinum head of hair. Far from feeling like a model, I suddenly experienced the urge to snap chewing gum and take orders in a fifties diner. I felt silly and artificial. I felt uncomfortable.
I am not a beauty snob. I wear makeup. I have no problem with any hair color or clothing style. We all try different things. I have spent money, more than I will ever admit, and time on silly feminine foibles. My skin is pale and my siblings naturally have much lighter hair than I. Going blonde should have been a great experience. It just wasn’t. This look didn’t fit.
I am a natural brunette. I admit sometimes I add a little auburn now that grey has begun sneaking in. Darker hair suits me, at least to my own eyes. Because I like it I feel more confident. I feel more myself. I do not have perfect posture or an enviable figure. But I do have my wit, and humor and compassion. I am intelligent and purposeful. I like myself. Like the lady I passed today I too walk with a spring in my step. I won’t be sporting the lycra look in public any time soon, but I am glad I got to share a smile with someone today who really wears that look well. And she smiled back, at little old brunette me.