I am identified by hair quite frequently now. It’s strange to think that since that was never a thing about four years. My hair wasn’t special. It wasn’t ugly, but it just wasn’t notable.
But now my hair is very me.
It’s short and spunky. I now have an undercut that makes the sides of my head fuzzy like a puppy. My hair is never the same color all year round. It’s constantly slightly changing. Cutting it all off after my high school graduation was like a creative way of marking my life transitioning. It was also to prove a point to my shitty boyfriend that I would still look hot.
The color of my hair has really always been fascinating since I don’t dye it. It just just changes in the sun, pick up bright blonde highlights that trickle down to my dark eyebrows to make them salt-and-pepper colored. It reflects to a young, baby Vee with hair the color of sunned straw. Blonde is the color that makes me happiest and Winter brings a brown that makes me look sallow in the face. I get this ever-changing color from my daddy, whose hair is now a permanent brown that only sees peeks of blonde when he stays in tropical locations for work trips and in his eyelashes.
Recently, people have been complimenting me on my dark hair and asking when I dyed it. I didn’t. I am slightly horrified that they are saying how dark it is. My hair was so blonde from a summer of being in the sun daily walking around campus as a Summer Welcome Leader that the fact that it hasn’t started shedding it’s winter layers/my haircuts have been revealing the areas the sun hasn’t seen is kind of a drastic change. I have always identified as a blonde, heck, I buy John Frieda Blonde shampoo. I liked the cliche of blondes having more fun because I felt lighter and happier when my hair was blonder.
But, stupid, silly, cliche me was forgetting the point of what people were saying to me. They were complimenting me. Telling me I looked good. Saying I was pretty. I was creatively avoiding the positives because it was easier in the moment for me to be mad at a change I wasn’t used to then just accept people being nice to me.
My hair has always been a symbol of self love, but now it has taken on a new meaning for me to allow others to praise me when I deserve it. Humility is important but fighting compliments isn’t cute. But, thanks for telling me my hair is.