virgin suicides

Today, while I was looking through photos of black hair brides and blonde hair brides I couldn't come to terms with my new found blondeness. In fact, I truly miss my dark locks and have a problem holding back my oohs and aahs whenever I see a gorgeous brunette walk past. Davey thinks I have something wrong with me and my indecisiveness has him convinced that I am a true nut case. With that said, I tried to remember what I loved about being a blonde, after all I had been a blonde the first 21 years of my life, it had only been the past 6 years that I had embraced my dark roots. I remembered Sophia Coppola's movie The Virgin Suicides and the strength in numbers the sisters had with their fair hair. I remember watching the film and feeling a kinship with the girls because of our similar tresses and was pretty sure that blondes were superior. This opinion very rarely changed, and it wasn't until 2-3 years into having my hair black that I realized hair color means nothing and that I felt just as beautiful with black hair as I did blonde.

Fast forward to October 2010, loads of 30 volume bleach on my hair, 6 inches of length cut off, and a look that threw me back into newport beach, I felt underwhelmed and emotionally nostalgic for my dark hair. While I was looking at the mirror after the initial blow dry, Nick Cave's 'Black Hair' played in my mind and I thought about all of memories with dark hair and suddenly I began to regret this decision of mine. So here we are week 2 of this mess, and I still can't come to grip with this hair decision. I think about The Virgin Suicides, about Chloe Sevigny and Marianne Faithful, wearing my boots in su-su-sugartown and I really don't know if I am a lifelong member of this elusive club anymore. Pictures of Priscilla Presley in the white wedding gown are all I can think of, and Hey Jupiter is playing in the background... so is it the shower or the bath?