This column really is fun to write. My friends love to read about my embarrassing incidents. I get random emails from people who generously share their own accounts of drunk dials or dull winter breaks. And I pretty much am allowed to talk about whatever is on my mind -- as I finally sit down to knock this out three hours before it's due. For a rather shy and reserved individual (no, really), I find this bi-monthly writing provides an outlet, a certain opportunity for lack of inhibition that I never seem to achieve on a verbal level. It's much easier to make fun of myself on paper.
That said, I will confess that I toyed with several topics for this week's column -- after all, this weekend provided more material than there are Lifetime movies. And if you spotted me in my yellow cape and tube socks on Saturday, thankfully I do not remember seeing you! But, you see, divulging craziness from Bid Night is just not an option. While I value and appreciate the response I get from being honest and candid, I must save some of my dwindling dignity. So just use your imagination and powers of inference (as I have) and we'll leave it at that.
I do, however, wish to address a fact I revealed about myself in my last column. Several have commented on my admission of being a "fake blonde." The reason eludes me, but apparently this disclosure made an impression on some, as I have since fielded many a "Not blonde?" query. Seeing as I am not in the mood to discuss the crazy past three weeks, I feel this is an appropriate time (if there ever is such a time) to address my blondeness -- or lack thereof.
I firmly believe that everyone possesses an internal need to regularly fulfill some materialistic aspect of their self-centered collegiate lives -- whether that may be religiously running around Grounds with the rest of the Charlottesville population, or maintaining a certain level of daily caffeine intake, depends on the person. For me, that personal obsession involves a three hour process of base color, a highlighting weave, toning, and deep conditioning every six to eight weeks (actually a very complicated process). To those lucky people who have a naturally beautiful hair color (mine is somewhere between the shade of beer sludge and dead leaf mulch), I am viciously jealous. For I am a slave to my hair, and I am not ashamed to admit it.
Girls, I have a feeling most of you understand my predicament; and boys, ask your girl friends if their hair color is 100 percent genuine. I am not suggesting that blonde is the only way to go -- after all, those perfect copper highlights streaking the coif of the brunette who sits in front of you in econ are not the workings of Sun-In. I am merely pointing out the trend toward "enhanced hair pigment." Back in AZ, everyone I know colors her hair. In fact, an estimated 52 percent of women in the U.S. sport unnatural shades (Google it if you care). "Bottle blondes" and others dyers are upping the ante for the naturals.
You might ask why this matters to me. After all, hair color is a very shallow and vain subject for us "sophisticated" members of T.J.'s distinguished institute of higher learning. So let's speak scientifically: I am of the biological school of thought that personality is somewhat derived from appearance (Neanderthal Evan did choose Sarah and Zora over the annoying Kathy Griffin red head, mind you). I view my hair history as a perfect way to drive this point home.
My mother has asked me to publicize that I actually was a bright blonde up until about the 5th grade -- that's right, those 1980s Beta videos I was forced to transfer to VHS over Christmas break featured yours truly as a golden-headed, leotard-clad, Teddy Ruxbin-clutching five year old. But once I hit middle school, the awkward phase of cliques and baby tees entered my life just as my blondeness (and vivacity) quickly faded. Like therapy, my Mom had me in the salon by the end of eighth grade, and my battle against mousy brown shadowed my hellish life at an all-girls high school.
Actually, for second semester of junior year (think SATs and college trips), on a whim I went coffee-colored, and my ensuing bout of depression and alienation from my friends was not remedied until my blondeness was restored. I've been going blonder ever since, and I'm never going back. Life is somehow brighter from under a veil of gold, and my hair color reflects my current love affair with U.Va.
The consensus in Metcalf seems to be that college is a happy place, while high school just is not. So put on your best hair color, your best personality, your best smile and have fun. Shouts out to all hair colors, for that matter; it's all about how you feel natural.
As for me, I'm a "fake blonde". And I'm proud of it.
Read More
Students brave the cold for a whirlwind sorority rush
By Mia Tan | YesterdayStudents recount a mix of emotions from rush, with some disappointed after dropping from the recruitment process and others ecstatic to join Greek life.
Top 10 ways to avoid burnout this semester
By Sam Saks | 3 days agoAs you settle into this semester, try implementing these 10 tactics to take care of yourself and wave goodbye to burnout.
Top 10 things I learned the day TikTok went dark
By Elizabeth Parsons | 5 days agoI am poised to bestow newfound pieces of wisdom from my short-lived TikTok detox.
