My Kingdom for a Wig!

I hate to spoil your porridge but your son has a blonde in his room.

Hair color is a choice. And as a choice, it’s possible it represents one of our greatest freedoms. We can have any color hair we want, and the barriers to entry are low; we can hire someone to do it for us, or we can do it ourselves. We can change it at will! Few things in life provide such easy access to self expression.

I have fond memories of my mother dying her hair in the kitchen with her friend, Marge. As my mother smoked, Marge would squirt the dye into her hair, working it through the roots with the plastic gloves that come in the box. The toner would drip down my mom’s face and she’d wipe it off with the ratty towel she wore around her neck. Her color of choice was Clairol Moonhaze (6AA / 32D), a dark, cool blonde with an ashy tone that covered up the grays. She and Marge had a grand old time in the kitchen, laughing, gossiping, and talking about the crazy world we live in. And when it was over, my mom looked great.

But, although the chemicals have changed since those days (they’re probably stronger and more toxic), the promise of this freedom still eludes many. It seems the roots of our attitudes towards hair color are in need of a touch up.

I was born blonde (well, bald, then blonde) and have been blonde ever since. I realize this doesn’t sound like a radical statement. But there’s some not-so-latent hostility out there towards blonde people, especially women. Hear me out.

“Blonde” is code for dumb, idiotic, flaky. No news here, ya’ll. People say it in front of me ALL THE TIME (i.e., “This blonde totally cut me off”). I’d also include the “sexy” subset usage: cheap, trashy, skanky (i.e., “He left me for a blonde”). If a person is described as having a “blonde ponytail,” that seems especially vile. But even though the eminently sensitive among us would think twice before describing someone’s physical appearance in a disparaging way, there seems to be no holding back where blondes are concerned.

Yes, the word for it is disparaging. In case non-blondes are wondering, it’s insulting to be lumped into a category of dumb floozies. Go figure! But it’s not the description that’s painful, it’s the treatment that comes with it.

When I was around 30, I was writing a speech for a pharmaceutical executive who — upon seeing me walk in the room — asked me if there was anyone else who could write the speech for him. I assured him that I was up for the task and was put through my paces for the next hour to see if I could keep up with the idiotic marketing drivel he needed to deliver. Guess what? I did.

But before my next writing gig, I dyed my hair brown — temporarily — to see if things would be different. Guess what? They were. Suddenly, I got some respect.

None of this has stopped me from going full foil: in the chair for hours just to get what looks like my old natural color. I dye my hair blonde, but I still consider myself to be a blonde person. And even though people sometimes look at my three blonde children and ask my husband if HE is blonde, as if my blonde is manufactured and his baldness is actually blonde — I try not to get offended. I will do my best not to hold their ignorance against them.

The hair color market is expected to reach 30 billion dollars this year, and the men’s hair color market is the fastest growing segment of that market. By 2034 it will reach 4.7 billion dollars.

I will say this as delicately as possible: men, we know you are dying your hair.

Being the age-obsessed culture that we are, it’s clear that older men are feeling the pangs of insecurity that women have been feeling for ages (see: Moonhaze, also see: full foil). We’re saying our goodbyes to the days when men could get away with wrinkles, grizzled beards, and graying temples as dignified signs of their superiority. Now, guys need to bro-up in hoodies and sneakers, sick tattoos, and just the right shade of … whatever that hair color is.

(I confess, I’m in the dark about how this happens – and I’m open to your comments here. Is the dye being ordered by mail? Are men doing it at a salon? Alone? Is there a Marge in the process? Please enlighten me, I’m dying to know.)

Clearly, we need a safe space for men’s hair color needs, if only to improve upon it, and get it taken care of with more finesse. Frankly guys, it’s not looking great. A few years ago, I interviewed with a very high-powered editor at a fancy magazine, and I was struck by how badly he dyed his hair: dark-dark-dark black, scalp and all (ala Giuliani). Mind you, he was in the power position and I was the one being scrutinized. But I walked away genuinely hoping he had someone in his life who would guide him in a positive direction. Seeing as he didn’t hire me, it’s obvious he wasn’t looking for opinions.

50 Shades of Old

Discrimination against gray hair may be reaching an impasse. Gorgeous “silver foxes” abound. Streaks of white (ala Cruella DeVille) are all the rage. They connote power and gravitas. But while I honor and respect the gorgeous women I know who have allowed their gray hair to freely enter the world, I simply can’t. While “natural blonde” is what I’m after, “natural” is not. I am not a silver fox, I am a mousy, calico, dishwater raccoon. Will I change my mind in the future when I’m wiser and more mature? Definitely not. I will never be mature enough to admit that I’ve become old; I was raised by people with too much vanity for that (see: Moonhaze). And I know I’m not alone.

It seems that the free choice of being your actual hair color is the least popular choice of all.

Regardless of our accomplishments, our preoccupation with being perceived as young (or smart, or sexy) most often starts with the color of the tough, fibrous protein growing out of the tops of our heads. For millennia, the cultural status that hair communicates has everything to do with health, status, and identity — and these signifiers are not going away any time soon. To accept the hair you’re born with, when other more powerful social options are available, is a sign that you are highly evolved.

Or, that you’re so old, you’ve forgotten to care.

For those of you looking to experience true freedom, and an absolute abandonment of identity’s confines, may I suggest an idea for a party? Ask a bunch of your amazing friends over and make them wear wigs. In addition to fun party stuff (snacks, drinks, music, and low lighting - a MUST), keep a box of extra wigs nearby for the weirdos who don’t own wigs already (if you can possibly forgive them). Don’t worry about lice.

I have done this and I can attest it is a very good time. You will see your amazing friends enjoying themselves in ways you never thought possible. What’s more, you might find — as I did — that absolutely everyone wants to wear a blonde wig. Why? Because of the extremely important lesson I learned from my mom: it’s much more fun to be blonde.

Thanks for reading! And I’m serious about my questions (men who dye their hair). Also, please invite me to your wig party, I promise I’ll bring extras. xox

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