Yesterday I washed my hair. I braided it while it was still wet, and when I took it down at bedtime I was pleased with all the pretty waves, so I took a picture, thinking I would share it with you fine people. At the time I supposed that I would be writing a post about taking pleasure in the little things--like when your hair is clean and shiny and aesthetically appealing. But then I TOOK the picture, and examined it, and suddenly I was asking something entirely different.
AM I BLONDE?
I mean, I know I'm not naturally blonde. Those roots are brown, baby. But I was left wondering if the cycle of bleaching and dying and washing had led me to a place where I was--currently, in that moment, for all intents and purposes--a blonde.
I was both perplexed, and not entire sure how to feel.
So, I did what any sensible person might do. I tried a different light source.
The dim light of my bedroom seems to confirm that I am, in fact, a brunette. But the entire thing has left me wondering about perception. I mean, I dye my hair vibrant shades of purple and pink. It isn't as though I'm terribly hung up on my natural shade. So why, then, would I care if I suddenly seemed blonde?
I honestly don't know. Maybe it's because it's startling to take something for granted about yourself, only to have it abruptly be not-true.
I guess that means I'll have this experience more and more frequently as I age, and my body becomes something different.
Oh, goodie.
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