GOTTA BE BLOND!

I knew this blond thing had come to a head (no pun intended) when I tuned into Channel 4’s news recently and discovered that Barbara White, serious journalist, parMime anchor and full-time brunette, had become, you guessed it, a blond. Not that I’ve actually counted, but with Barbara’s newly bleached locks that makes a lot of blonds in this town. In fact, I’d say we have more than our fair share of fair hair.

Why, 1 wondered, is Dallas so seemingly obsessed with hair color? What is it about being blond that grabs perfectly rational people by their roots, and holds on through the indignities of bimonthly touch-ups! Why is it that men and women all over the city go to great lengths to pass themselves off as natural blonds when everyone knows their hair color is fake? Don’t ask me. I’m blond.

Unlike Barbara, however, 1 was born that way. And trust me, if you’re new to the state, growing up blond in Texas was not only not unusual, it was positively redundant. When I was a little girl I had my pick of a dozen or more blond role models-Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, Miss Texas beauty queens, the Kilgore Rangerettes, even Southwest Airline stewardesses. By the time I was 16 I’d subconsciously made the connection-high-visibility hair equaled high-visibility life. Brunettes took life seriously. Blonds took everything they could get, but serious wasn’t one of them.

I’ve given the issue of my own personal blondness a lot of thought. Maybe it would have been a good career move somewhere along the way to have chosen a more neutral hair color. Something less obvious, maybe a nice corporate brown with just a few highlights around the face. Nothing pushy, mind you-a little color for interest, that’s all. But I’ve decided that being blond is more than chemicals, and more than an innocent genetic predisposition. It’s a way of life. I realize it’s an $800 a year habit that I’ll have until I’m dead-or bald-whichever comes first. I also realize that being blond is like going through life with a flashlight attached to your head. It’s a hard thing to hide: People can see you coming a mile away and by the time you reach them they’ve already decided who you are.

If I lived in Brooklyn I’d probably rethink the blond thing. No need to shake up an entire town. But hey, this is Dallas, where blonds grow on tree; run for mayor, and definitely have more fun.

Bund Commentary

“When I lived in New York and I was poor. I colored my hair myseif and it turned out white. It was a disaster. Now. I don*t care what it costs. I will always have it done. The station asked how. I fell about a makeover. I said fine. You can change my nose, my face, my clothes, but don’t change my hair color. Change my image, but the blond stays” -Nancy Jay, Channel 11