For the past few months, I was stuck in a monotonous rut. The same shit, different day. I woke up, worked, ate, scrolled, clicked, sent a flirty text that I would stress about for the next 4 hours, scrolled, ate, slept, repeat.
I was walking around on autopilot, which of all ways to walk is by far the most boring. Something was missing, but I couldn’t figure it out.
And then, while scrolling and clicking and heart-eyeing photos of beautiful women on Instagram, inspiration hit.
I knew exactly what I had to do.
No, not longterm therapy to work through my commitment issues and fear that, because my father died, all other men I love will leave. And lol, no, not reexamining my goals and priorities to figure out what’s really important. Those things all sound long and hard. And not in the good way.
Nope, my solution was very simple. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I was finally going to take a cue from Marilyn Monroe. Because honestly, what if gentlemen DO prefer blondes? She seemed happy and not at all tragic!
So I said goodbye, brunette waves. Society tells me I’ll have much more fun if I trade you in for something lighter. And let’s face it, I care about societal expectations more than I do inner happiness. So fun!
I didn’t have time to waste at a hair salon though. I needed this change ASAP. And there, waiting for me like my own personal Jesus at the back of a year-round Halloween shop, I saw her. I saw the wig that would turn me into a sexy, ambitious, well-balanced Goddess. I saw the wig that would finally bathe me in light. And fuck, how beautiful that light was.
As soon as I became a Chosen Blonde One, I could feel the change immediately.
On my way home from the Halloween store, my car was running low on gas, so I stopped by the nearest station to refill. A man in a nearby truck offered to do it for me. And to pay! And then gave me two free movie tickets to a showing of Finding Dory! He said I didn’t have to take him though, I could take anyone I wanted. Nice guy.
After I got home, I checked my email to see a Nigerian Prince had been kidnapped and promised that if I bailed him out, he would reward me with endless riches. Had I been a regular ol’ brunette, I might have taken the bait. But not now. I politely emailed back, “I hope you get some help, but I’m blonde. I have all the riches I could ever need.”
I posted a photo on Instagram and was shocked to see that, within seconds, all my ex boyfriends had liked it.
The hottest guy from my high school, who never deigned to look at me back then, immediately slid into my DMs. He said, “Hey.” I replied, “Hey.” It was electric.
Later that evening, my best friend invited me to join her at a bar downtown. While not usually big on nightlife, I decided that was going to have to change. I was a hot commodity now and it would be terribly unfair to just stay inside. I owed it to the world to be with the people.
Men and women plowed us with drinks the whole night. I sang karaoke and was instantly signed to Sony Music. The bartender gave me a puppy. I didn’t ask him why he had a puppy behind the bar because questions aren’t important. I actually had to leave a bit early because I had to catch a flight to Los Angeles (I had an appearance on Chelsea Handler’s new show). But all and all, it was a wonderful time.
It’s so nice to be blonde.