Among a slew of brunette babies, I came into this world with Rapunzel-yellow hair. My grandpa bestowed the nickname “Miss America” on me early on, and I had springy golden pig tails for much of my childhood. I was my family’s random, blonde baby, proud and true. My mom told me for years not to get too attached, that my hair would darken the way my oldest sister’s had. I would point at Molly’s baby pictures and argue that my hair was always way lighter than hers, and I would tell her to stop trying to brunette-box me. I swore I would be a blonde for life.
At 18 years old, my hair color depends on the day. Clean hair and sunlight, I am blonde without question. Few days past a shower and the winter, it’s more unclear. It is very feasible that you could call my hair light brown with blonde highlights or dirty blonde. I am far from platinum, but I my hair is in no way as dark as my eyes. The truth is that I fall somewhere in the middle of hair colors and that this doesn’t matter to most people. I, however, have a firm opinion. I have blonde hair and I would appreciate it if you didn’t question it.
I, perhaps oddly, identify very strongly with my hair color. I was told, by not just my mom, from a very young age that my blonde hair would fade and darken with the years; I would fall to my family’s genes and be lightly brown in due time. I resented this assumption. Ultimately, my younger self felt personally challenged and affronted by this idea that I couldn’t hold onto something I liked. I liked being blonde. I liked having my hair glow in the sun, and I liked being different than my sisters. The fact that I remain at least arguably blonde is a strange point of pride for me that I retain still.
People have differing opinions on hair color, depending on how strongly your identity hinges on it. For me, I very thoroughly connect with having blonde hair and when people would argue with me, I felt offended. Honestly, why the hell does it matter to you? Clearly I have light hair. Clearly it could go to either end of the color spectrum. Clearly I think of myself as blonde, so why are you bothering me about it again? Though it feels a little trivial to feel strongly about, it also feels kind of trivial to attack.
My final word on this has a few layers. For one, let me be blonde if I want to be. I’m close enough, and I prefer it, so to the haters, let this one go. Additionally, think about identifiers. Let people chose their own and respect them. Be gentle and be respectful. There are a lot of battles worth fighting. The war over whether I am “allowed” to call myself blonde or brown haired is not one of them.
Image credits: Lily Alig