What's up with America's obsession with long blond hair?
I recently attended a wig party. My choice of hair was a long blond wig that I used for a Barbie costume a few years back. My real hair is a medium brown, so the wig was a noticeable difference. I pretty much looked like a floozie. I used to be blond for real, in fact. Yeah, it was scary. My best friend has absolutely forbade me to go blond again. And she's my fashion and image consultant, so I trust that her request is well-intentioned. And while I really have no intention of ignoring her "orders," the comments I received on wig night made me at least consider it:
"Has your dad seen you? You better not let him see you, looking like that." (That one was thanks to a good friend of my father's, by the way.)
"Wow, you should do your hair like that every day."
"Damn girl."
"Wow, sweetie, you look really cute." (My very own mother).
"I'm Daniel Craig, you might know me from the 007 series, will you be my next Bond Girl?"
Ok, so the last one was fake. But that would be be sweeeeeet. [Ranting pauses to Google Image search Mr. Craig in his classic, irresistable tux. Strip poker, anyone?]
Point is -- Thanks, everybody for telling me I'd look great as a skanked out stripper, and that my alter-ego skank image is much preferable to my actual self. That's great for the self esteem. I'll just get myself a good bleach job, pay a few grand for some extensions, lose a few brain cells, learn who these "The Hills" kids are, start using the phrase "Fro-Yo," and make a living at Centerfolds. Too bad I have deep-rooted fears of that place. But that story is for another time, and another place.
And this is where we check off the issue as thoroughly ranted on and say: "Whatever, I'm getting cheese fries." Until I find something new to rant about...you stay classy.
