The mini-Saga of New York Blonde- NOTHING like the Movies!
For but a brief moment in my life...I was a New Yorker. I told myself if I was going to be a New Yorker I was NOT going to live in a borough- some outpost of Manhattan- but The City (how that show effected so many young women...). I shared a two bedroom with a former college roommate from my university in Florida, in a neighborhood known as Inwood, Manhattan. My roomie (we will refer to her as "Rosa", her surname), was very familiar with the area; and knowing the amount of time my family had spent in South Florida, felt I would have no problem being neighbors with people who spoke a different language. Not a problem...until you want directions...and your roomie and her family contacts are all working. WHY I have never learned enough Spanish to actually function, is an enigma to my family, several Latino ex-boyfriends, as well as many of my Spanish-as-a-first-language friends. I believe they have enabled me all these years and this co-dependency is ALL their fault! I knew enough Spanish to get through to our landlord and his wife who found my ignorance quite amusing on a regular basis; they were so helpful to me, the jokes at my expense are completely forgivable.
After a few months, I gained that defeated, stoop-and-grimace most hardworking New Yorkers have, and took my new york mood to Cleveland to visit my best friend and my goddaughter. My best friend and her mother were concerned: I was not that perky young woman they'd seen off at the airport. "Are you depressed?" "No.." "Homesick?" "No..." "Then perk the hell up!" When I got back to The City, I mentioned how everyone kept asking me if I was 'down' in some manner; my roomie suggested we go out. She took me to a club in the neighborhood, where everyone comfortably spoke Spanish. I was fine because she and her cousin taught me a line that made me very popular. If I remember correctly it was, "No hablo mucho Espanol...me puede ensenar?" The way I was dressed that night, I'm sure several men where thinking of many other things they could teach me besides just Spanish. I loved our nights out, but I felt like I was being disrespectful to her culture; I found a friend at work who promised to take me to a club in Midtown. I met the man, that night, who made me so angry I dyed my hair BLONDE.
"We danced...now tell me about yourself..." "Well,...I'm twenty-" "NO! Tell me about YOU- who YOU are..." "What do you want me to say?" I found out in short order he was a Psychologist and he had an unholy desire to make me over in his ex-girlfriend's image. They'd 'shared a hut' in some remote locale during his time in the Peace Corp, and he could NOT let go of her image of perfection. The fact that I still agreed to see him after finding this out, shows I needed his services and not his attention. My skin was the right complexion; my body the right size and shape...but my hair needed to be darker. He was very generous and began paying for me to go to a posh salon for my weekly appointments. "Now next time, we'll start with the gradual darkening...your hair is healthy enough now." Melvin told me after one of my blow outs. "Excuse me?" "Didn't your sugardaddie tell you sweetie? He TOLD me to dye your hair as dark as possible..." I almost went into shock; for years- yes! I'll admit it- I'd rebeled against my mother's pleas and put various shades of brown rinses in my auburn hair...I just didn't like the attention. Brunette translated to 'safe' and 'modest' so I went the same route as a few of my paternal aunts. But to have someone FORCE me to darken my hair was not going to happen! "You know Melvin...I've been thinking...maybe I should go Blonde.." This was like angels singing in Melvin's ears! For some reason he never elaborated on, Melvin decided that EVERYONE should be Blonde at least once in their life. "Oh joy JOY! I know the PERFECT Blonde to make you! Between me and Sandi, this color will look like it is coming out of your very scalp!"
Sandi was the colorist at the salon and I heard he did MAGIC with color. It was rumored he could make a raven-haired beauty a 'summer blonde' in a few weeks. I made an appointment with Melvin and one with Sandi for the next week, then remained tight-lipped for the next seven days. Sandi informed me that it would take six weeks for him to give me "the perfect blonde" for me (so much for magic). He first dyed it sandy brown. My roommate almost died. "EEeew! What happened?" "I'm going blonde and this is the first step!" "Yuck! Girl my cousin could dye your hair blonde in the sink in ONE STEP- what's up with that salon?" Since I trusted Sandi and Melvin more than a kitchen-beautician, I continued my appointments at the salon. I told my boyfriend some lie about brunette reversal from red...he fell for it. By my third appointment I was a sandy BLONDE; "One more lift and then more highlights..." Sandi assured me. Of course, this is the week my deception was discovered; "Are you BLONDE~?!" "Yes! Isn't it BEAUTIFUL?" "That is NOT what I told that candyas- ! Wait..." He began to smirk, "You TOLD HIM to make you blonde- didn't you?" "Yes" "Against my wishes?" "Yes" "Well congratulations! You're cured!" "Of what?" "Of ME! It's over!" All I could think while I heard his footsteps going down the stairs was, "Now who will pay for my appointments?"
My Godsend came in the form of one of his less devoted friends; he was a PSYCHIATRIST and made enough money that he didn't care WHAT I did to myself...as long as I was "HOT". Dr. Dickie, is what I came to call him- his family nickname was Dickie. Dr. Dickie's money got me to my "perfect blonde" and the change in attitude came immediately! Completely blonde- even the eyebrows- and highlighted to perfection, I strolled home from the store. "Rubia! RU-bia!" I heard a familiar voice calling. It was one of my sweet but more flirtatious neighbors. I turned around, swinging my newly blonded and blownout tresses- and shocked him silent. "Buenas noches mi corazon. Como va?"; this is how we flirted each day. "Chica?..." "Si?" His confused look was replaced by a wonder-filled smile, "Co-RA-ZON! Permitame, por favor." He'd flirted with me shamelessly everyday, but this was the first time he offered to carry my bags.
Other men would soon become mesmerized by my new color...the grocer began giving me extra fruit and candies; men at my job suddenly wanted to take me to lunch; STRANGERS began- literally- crossing thoroughfares to meet me; and after being pushed and elbowed hundreds of times on the subway, the jaded businessmen began to act gallant. My giggle took on a nauseating affect for most of the women around me; even though I've always giggled, even as a redhead. My boss suddenly became concerned about how often the men where standing and staring at me. "Lauder I need to talk to you about what you are wearing to work." "But Pat, I am THE most conservatively dressed woman in this office." It was quite true; as a natural redhead with freckles I remained covered in sunblock and thin long sleeves in the summer. "Well...maybe it's the way you're behaving toward the men-" "Pat! You and I KNOW why the guys are suddenly acting like this...it's my hair color." "Then change it back!" "Excuse me?!" "If it is your hair color that is disrupting the efficiency of the office, then you should change it back!" Blonde -insanity wasn't limited to men, it apparently manifested itself in non-blondes as professional stupidity. "I'll certainly think about it..." NOT! As a woman of her age who was peek-a-booing gray, I knew, that she knew, how much a dye job costs in that city; it didn't matter, it was a temp job. After explaining to my recruiter that my hair color was effecting efficiency- to which she agreed it might- I was promised another assignment....that never came. I would call and get the runaround; I even spent a few weeks, off-and-on, on extended visits to Ohio working temp assignments just to make sure I could pay rent in New York. I didn't like being away from The City, and my boyfriend didn't like it either, but my hair color WAS causing a disturbance in my finances. I would show up to interviews after giving great phone and would either be treated with hostility by female interviewers, or make male interviewers so nervous they lost almost all their professionalism. It became ANNOYING.
My boyfriend, Dr. Dickie, made a suggestion: "Why don't you take a break from working, and I'll take care of things until you can get back on your feet." This worked, for a time. I would get desperate calls from the temp agency every blue moon and take the assignment, just to keep up some semblance of autonomy. I traveled at my leisure and lived what would have been a fabu life to many...it made me a little unhappy. I went to Dr. Dickie one day and told him I'd had enough of being Blonde. "Are you sure? I mean, you look beautiful as a Blonde- not that you aren't pretty as a redhead..." I knew he liked the attention we got: his hot, young blonde thing was a trophy. It was funny how it didn't matter that the blonde wasn't natural...it was still seen as BLONDE. "Yes...I'm sure." Melvin almost cried when he saw Sandi was taking me back to a dark auburn; I was relieved when it was close to normal. A month before, I'd made arrangements to visit friends in LA, and by the time I showed up, I was no longer blonde. "What happened?", they asked, referring to my lack of blondeness. "I gave it up...it was too hard on me..."I sighed, before telling them the horrors of being blonde. Their take on my tale of woe? "Of course it was difficult, sweetie- it's the east coast! Now in LA, everyone would have just welcomed you to the light side!"
Too bad I wasn't on the other coast.
After a few months, I gained that defeated, stoop-and-grimace most hardworking New Yorkers have, and took my new york mood to Cleveland to visit my best friend and my goddaughter. My best friend and her mother were concerned: I was not that perky young woman they'd seen off at the airport. "Are you depressed?" "No.." "Homesick?" "No..." "Then perk the hell up!" When I got back to The City, I mentioned how everyone kept asking me if I was 'down' in some manner; my roomie suggested we go out. She took me to a club in the neighborhood, where everyone comfortably spoke Spanish. I was fine because she and her cousin taught me a line that made me very popular. If I remember correctly it was, "No hablo mucho Espanol...me puede ensenar?" The way I was dressed that night, I'm sure several men where thinking of many other things they could teach me besides just Spanish. I loved our nights out, but I felt like I was being disrespectful to her culture; I found a friend at work who promised to take me to a club in Midtown. I met the man, that night, who made me so angry I dyed my hair BLONDE.
"We danced...now tell me about yourself..." "Well,...I'm twenty-" "NO! Tell me about YOU- who YOU are..." "What do you want me to say?" I found out in short order he was a Psychologist and he had an unholy desire to make me over in his ex-girlfriend's image. They'd 'shared a hut' in some remote locale during his time in the Peace Corp, and he could NOT let go of her image of perfection. The fact that I still agreed to see him after finding this out, shows I needed his services and not his attention. My skin was the right complexion; my body the right size and shape...but my hair needed to be darker. He was very generous and began paying for me to go to a posh salon for my weekly appointments. "Now next time, we'll start with the gradual darkening...your hair is healthy enough now." Melvin told me after one of my blow outs. "Excuse me?" "Didn't your sugardaddie tell you sweetie? He TOLD me to dye your hair as dark as possible..." I almost went into shock; for years- yes! I'll admit it- I'd rebeled against my mother's pleas and put various shades of brown rinses in my auburn hair...I just didn't like the attention. Brunette translated to 'safe' and 'modest' so I went the same route as a few of my paternal aunts. But to have someone FORCE me to darken my hair was not going to happen! "You know Melvin...I've been thinking...maybe I should go Blonde.." This was like angels singing in Melvin's ears! For some reason he never elaborated on, Melvin decided that EVERYONE should be Blonde at least once in their life. "Oh joy JOY! I know the PERFECT Blonde to make you! Between me and Sandi, this color will look like it is coming out of your very scalp!"
Sandi was the colorist at the salon and I heard he did MAGIC with color. It was rumored he could make a raven-haired beauty a 'summer blonde' in a few weeks. I made an appointment with Melvin and one with Sandi for the next week, then remained tight-lipped for the next seven days. Sandi informed me that it would take six weeks for him to give me "the perfect blonde" for me (so much for magic). He first dyed it sandy brown. My roommate almost died. "EEeew! What happened?" "I'm going blonde and this is the first step!" "Yuck! Girl my cousin could dye your hair blonde in the sink in ONE STEP- what's up with that salon?" Since I trusted Sandi and Melvin more than a kitchen-beautician, I continued my appointments at the salon. I told my boyfriend some lie about brunette reversal from red...he fell for it. By my third appointment I was a sandy BLONDE; "One more lift and then more highlights..." Sandi assured me. Of course, this is the week my deception was discovered; "Are you BLONDE~?!" "Yes! Isn't it BEAUTIFUL?" "That is NOT what I told that candyas- ! Wait..." He began to smirk, "You TOLD HIM to make you blonde- didn't you?" "Yes" "Against my wishes?" "Yes" "Well congratulations! You're cured!" "Of what?" "Of ME! It's over!" All I could think while I heard his footsteps going down the stairs was, "Now who will pay for my appointments?"
My Godsend came in the form of one of his less devoted friends; he was a PSYCHIATRIST and made enough money that he didn't care WHAT I did to myself...as long as I was "HOT". Dr. Dickie, is what I came to call him- his family nickname was Dickie. Dr. Dickie's money got me to my "perfect blonde" and the change in attitude came immediately! Completely blonde- even the eyebrows- and highlighted to perfection, I strolled home from the store. "Rubia! RU-bia!" I heard a familiar voice calling. It was one of my sweet but more flirtatious neighbors. I turned around, swinging my newly blonded and blownout tresses- and shocked him silent. "Buenas noches mi corazon. Como va?"; this is how we flirted each day. "Chica?..." "Si?" His confused look was replaced by a wonder-filled smile, "Co-RA-ZON! Permitame, por favor." He'd flirted with me shamelessly everyday, but this was the first time he offered to carry my bags.
Other men would soon become mesmerized by my new color...the grocer began giving me extra fruit and candies; men at my job suddenly wanted to take me to lunch; STRANGERS began- literally- crossing thoroughfares to meet me; and after being pushed and elbowed hundreds of times on the subway, the jaded businessmen began to act gallant. My giggle took on a nauseating affect for most of the women around me; even though I've always giggled, even as a redhead. My boss suddenly became concerned about how often the men where standing and staring at me. "Lauder I need to talk to you about what you are wearing to work." "But Pat, I am THE most conservatively dressed woman in this office." It was quite true; as a natural redhead with freckles I remained covered in sunblock and thin long sleeves in the summer. "Well...maybe it's the way you're behaving toward the men-" "Pat! You and I KNOW why the guys are suddenly acting like this...it's my hair color." "Then change it back!" "Excuse me?!" "If it is your hair color that is disrupting the efficiency of the office, then you should change it back!" Blonde -insanity wasn't limited to men, it apparently manifested itself in non-blondes as professional stupidity. "I'll certainly think about it..." NOT! As a woman of her age who was peek-a-booing gray, I knew, that she knew, how much a dye job costs in that city; it didn't matter, it was a temp job. After explaining to my recruiter that my hair color was effecting efficiency- to which she agreed it might- I was promised another assignment....that never came. I would call and get the runaround; I even spent a few weeks, off-and-on, on extended visits to Ohio working temp assignments just to make sure I could pay rent in New York. I didn't like being away from The City, and my boyfriend didn't like it either, but my hair color WAS causing a disturbance in my finances. I would show up to interviews after giving great phone and would either be treated with hostility by female interviewers, or make male interviewers so nervous they lost almost all their professionalism. It became ANNOYING.
My boyfriend, Dr. Dickie, made a suggestion: "Why don't you take a break from working, and I'll take care of things until you can get back on your feet." This worked, for a time. I would get desperate calls from the temp agency every blue moon and take the assignment, just to keep up some semblance of autonomy. I traveled at my leisure and lived what would have been a fabu life to many...it made me a little unhappy. I went to Dr. Dickie one day and told him I'd had enough of being Blonde. "Are you sure? I mean, you look beautiful as a Blonde- not that you aren't pretty as a redhead..." I knew he liked the attention we got: his hot, young blonde thing was a trophy. It was funny how it didn't matter that the blonde wasn't natural...it was still seen as BLONDE. "Yes...I'm sure." Melvin almost cried when he saw Sandi was taking me back to a dark auburn; I was relieved when it was close to normal. A month before, I'd made arrangements to visit friends in LA, and by the time I showed up, I was no longer blonde. "What happened?", they asked, referring to my lack of blondeness. "I gave it up...it was too hard on me..."I sighed, before telling them the horrors of being blonde. Their take on my tale of woe? "Of course it was difficult, sweetie- it's the east coast! Now in LA, everyone would have just welcomed you to the light side!"
Too bad I wasn't on the other coast.
posted by ScreenGoddessComplex at 2:00 PM
1 Comments:
LOL...thanks.
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