When I still had my dark mane of hair, as nature intended, I was led down unusual paths – met wizards among gnarled trees and was invited to hedonistic parties. “Snow White” they called me, I took many a bite of poisoned apples but in my dark fables, princes did not rescue the damsel but rather found singular pleasure in torturing the hell out of her. Games were played, involving the mind, involving the flesh – kind of exhausting but exhilarating nonetheless – drama was a permanent fixture: tears, scenes, dancing in shadows with messy eyeliner, hysterical laughter followed by fascinating hours spent pondering life, words, feelings, everything – while in the background, fountains of wine flowed and our minds reeled with possibilities.
Until, one day, I foolishly decided a drastic change was needed – the dark mane was replaced by a golden crown of hair.
Suddenly, I am the princess with the pea, the über sensitive girl who can’t possibly sleep without all of life’s luxuries. Aristocratic peacocks are coming up to me, giving me diet tips: no food apart from one Apple pip, just water, no alcohol, no smoke, it’s all forbidden if you don’t want your feathers to lose their shine…lest, God forbid you might be mistaken for a swine. All the paths are now boulevards paved with gold, no more shadows, light everywhere, the cads have vanished – instead, men reeking of sophistication are kissing my hand, bowing to the ground, falling over themselves to be anything but profound…What is this? What happened? Is this really all down to hair colour? Is this my punishment for going against nature? Dark was my hair, dark was – is – my psyche, what could have possessed me to forget it and go all Barbie?
If this all sounds ridiculous, that’s because it is – hair colour, really, as if it could make such a difference – and yet, I’m not taking any chances, I’m calling my hairdresser.
*Late night drunken writing, I had great fun with this one. And I might have laughed writing it, but it was still triggered by a few sparks of truth*