I had enough issues trying to get myself in a little town where I was more used to being ridiculed for my effeminate manners and standoffish-ness than celebrated from bringing the town diversity cred. By the sentence this picture was taken, I was starting to get out and distinct to do something I'd always wanted to do but was too afraid I'd get picked on still more for doing. I dyed my hair blonde.
The 1st individual to rally me about it was mom.
When I was a toddler, everyone thought I was a girl. My mom kept my hair long and, as you can see, without a trim it gets curly and wavy. When I was a kid, my hair was blond and didn't darken until about the sentence I started kindergarten.
Mom sent me a crowd of photos last week and thither were several of me and my golden locks. In one I'm wearing a dress an in another I get a barrette in my long hair. The photos would be the primary evidence if there was a "nature vs nurture" trial on my youth.
Mom wasn't the just one to giggle at my sudden transition from a dark brunette to a yellow orange mop top. Schoolmates also poked fun and both my girl and my boyfriend said they didn't like it.
I, however, adored it. I kept my hair blonde - from tabby cat orange to bleached white - until approximately midway through my freshman class of college. In after years I died my hair occasionally - usually red or a brownish maroon - but the thrill died quickly.
Safely ensconced in the refuge of the university dorms where I didn't know anyone, I decided to reinvent myself. I got my ears pierced a few bajillion times, started wearing cheap bracelets halfway up my arm, and cut off all of my long locks. Now I know it's time to go get a haircut when I can see my hair start to curl, but the earrings and bracelets have long ago gone by the wayside.
Jerame calls this my "Bon Jovi look." I choose to consider of it as "the butch Nellie Olson."
No comments:
Post a Comment