A revolution raged across the country. Like their forefathers had centuries earlier, the oppressed masses fought for equality. They didn’t fight with a guillotine, but with scissors. This war wasn’t poverty vs. luxury, but tradition vs. well, fashion.
I’ll get back to French history in a second. Right now, I am having a crisis: my hair.
When I was a tyke, my skin was tan, my eyes were blue, and my hair was almost white. Unfortunately, as I’ve gotten older, my skin has gotten lighter, my eyes have gotten greener, and my hair has gotten darker.
Eventually, I’ll look like a green-eyed Snow White.
Living in Tennessee during the school year felt miserable. It was cold the entire spring semester. So, from the end of fall semester to the end of spring semester, I left my dorm as little as possible.
Since it didn’t see the sun, my hair became darker.
“It’s true,” my friend agreed. “You looked like Malibu Barbie when you first came here. Now your hair looks red.”
I’ve started thinking about bleaching it, which isn’t something I’ve ever had to consider about before. For no real reason, I highlighted my hair once before – in 8th grade – which proved to be a mistake, like most of the decisions I made during that era. It was a time of experimentation and awkwardness and the two often went hand-in-hand. The result was a yellow mop that made my face look bright pink.
Hair is a form of self-expression. That revolution I mentioned earlier was the genesis of the bobbed hairstyle. When women in France began bobbing their hair, they were disowned by their families, even run out of town. Did that stop them? Hecks, no. They sullenly pointed to the French savior, Joan of Arc, who made the bobbed cut a symbol of girl power and their efforts created a style sensastion; with the arrival of World War I, it became enormously popular.
But it’s not just that I prefer the lighter blonde look. My hair is lighter when I’m outside, when I’m at the beach or by the pool or just enjoying the outdoors. Basically, my hair is lightest when I’m happiest. When life isn’t coming crashing down on me. When I’m enjoying myself.
I suppose I should embrace my darker look. It represents change. It represents overcoming challenges. It represents the new era of my life.
But, like any borderline hippie, wannabe Barbie, I’m dousing it in lemon juice and spending every spare second basking in the sunshine.
Viva la revolution?
Or maybe just evolution.
A Floating Shift 