Gentleman Prefer Blondes

Upon scrolling idly down my tumblr page, a daily ritual to stimulate my hunger for aesthetic pleasure, I noticed something rather unsettling. I have a thing for blondes. BLONDE GIRLS. This surprised me for several reasons: 1) I love my dark hair 2) I’ve been dying it black since I was 14 and 3) I have always neglected the ‘Gentleman prefer Blondes’ theory and favoured the look of the vampish and the exotic, the dark beauty, the black widow. 

And then it struck me why this was so. I love blondes because they represent everything I am not and everything I can never be. My foreign skin and dark features mean that transitioning to blonde will not only cost me the youth and vitality of my mane, but make me look like an poorly presented drag queen. And so the blonde locks of the eastern Europeans that plague the pages of every magazine and blog are forever a reminder of what I can not have: the unattainable, the unrequited love, the Daisy to my Gatsby.

I will never bear the radiant halo of purity and light, the enchanting petals of golden princesses, the tye dyed tail of my little pony. I will never be able to dye my hair pastel pinks or sun kissed gold. And I realise that whilst all of the women I am attracted to: Lara Stone, Sash Pivovarova, Charlotte Free, January Jones, Brigitte Bardot, Daphne Groeneveld, Marilyn...every Brunette I admire and post, the dita von teeses and the Maria Carla Bosconos, the Penelope Cruzs and the Jane Birkins, the Brooke Shields…I post less and notice less because I see their beauty in a very different way. I see them as myself. The moonless midnight, the dark horse, the serious stranger with the curtain of black secrets, the  woman of Mystery.

And for all the blondes I love and worship, I would never give up my dark hair to be one. Because my darkness is very much part of who I am. The Black Swan.  

 

And trust me, Blondes definitely do NOT have more fun.