It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

What I Think You Think My Purple Hair Says About Me

October 4, 2017

I once wrote right here for The Rib about this weird, narcissistic idea I have. Essentially, I thought that not changing my hairstyle was the only “constant” factor that kept this wacky weird world from transitioning into the next stage of apocalyptic human life on Earth. I.E. I truly believed that because I had decided not to change up my grown out brown locks to something drastic like a blonde pixie cut, I knew I was the sole factor that continuously kept WWIII from erupting. I know that’s weird. In my defense, I feel like movies train you to think that every little thing matters and that one tiny thing could disrupt the whole space-time continuum. I just happened to think that one tiny thing was my hair. Yes, I do see a therapist, why do you ask?

Recently, I dyed my hair purple. So, yes, as you may be able to deduct, I 100% stopped giving a fuck about the world. And the world, in such cases, has a fun way of getting even with self-obsessed pricks like me. For one, it gives us very few brain cells. So when one’s egotistic-ass-self dyes their hair a dark purple, it makes one forget basic chemistry so that when one has a thought like: “Man, a quick swim in a chlorinated pool right now –at this very moment,  merely minutes after I have permanently bleached and dyed my hair– seems hella refreshing and, also, like a great idea!” your little brain cells don’t even budge. So if you’re vain fuckin’ self wanted a dark, mysterious, sophisticated, brown-purple hue, you will instead get a tacky, overdone, RISD-wannabe, mason jar-lovin’, vinyl-record listenin’, lavender-gray mane.

Which is just so not me.*

All I wanted was a “natural” purple!  I wanted people to see me and think, “She could  be so into experimental queer theater, but, gee, I don’t know, I really can’t tell– she could also be like, the new diversity hire at Goldman Sachs, you know? Because that purple is more than just artsy. It is… refined. Is it even purple, or is it brown with a violet aura of je ne sais quoi?

But instead, I got “hipster” lavender. So people  see me and think, “Okay, so clearly, this bitch thinks she’s in a Wes Anderson ‘film’. How many fucking Pitbulls do you think she claims to have rescued? You know she just can’t wait to get some weird part of her body pierced. Also, I know she’s fifty feet away but, do you smell quinoa and kale farts?”

This is exasperating. I already am fake edgy, some claim. I don’t want the lavender hair to push me over the “edgy” edge! I try to stay in the mainstream! I keep my tattoos in check and my mason jars at home, and yet somehow I now have to face Wannabe Manic Pixie Dream Girl prejudice! I don’t want to be cool! Or edgy! I am the least edgy person I know! I watched High School Musical last night! I would never pierce my nipples!

But I want you to think I could.

And that’s  the difference. I naïvely thought purple hair would allude to my Experimental, Free-Spirited, Sagittarius self. Yes, I would never pierce my nips (because of the nipple noodle story), BUT I want you to think I’d at least consider it. And with purple hair, you might have. But with lavender hair, everyone just assumes I have three nipples and three lovers, and that they all have gauges. It’s fuckin’ insulting.

Purple hair was going to make me mysteriously sexy. Instead, lavender hair unambiguously renders me a fucked up lover. Because lavender hair says “I do anal.”  While purple hair only asks, “Does she do anal?”

I know. I know. I look like I’m a septum piercing away from selling you LSD. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it until I can dye my hair a perplexing purple once again.  But who knows, maybe this life won’t be so bad.  For example, I no longer have to move around people on the sidewalk. They are the ones who move around me because god forbid I’m carrying one of my Edgy Girl Sex Ropes, accidentally whipping them away from me and into oncoming traffic. Or maybe, they’re just really scared I’ll talk to them about veganism. In any case, I guess I’ll just never “have” to deal with new people again.

I could get used to that. So maybe catch me with granny-gray hair soon. And with a tattoo on the inside of one of my fingers. Chainsmoking by the MCM building. Wearing a The Lumineers t-shirt.

*I know people will contest this. W/E. Look for me at Knead Donuts, ready to fight you.

Image via Sarah Clapp.

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