Blonde

I have been blonde all my life. Growing up in the Mediterranean ensured that I was white-blonde for the first part of my life. When I was dispatched to Yorkshire to boarding school, the colour was slowly leeched from my body as it struggled to adjust to the cold and the food. My hair grew darker and I was forced to take action, in the form of whichever hair dye was on special offer at Superdrug when I was on half-term (they banned short skirts at school, so you can imagine they didn’t look to highly on peroxide). My Nan had a policy of giving £10 Boots vouchers for both Christmas and Birthdays, which helped keep me in Sun-in, and school holidays spent in Egypt, where my parents were living at the time, helped. Once I began nannying, I branched out to being able to afford full-priced hair-dye, which my Spanish nanny friend (a former hairdresser with mad curly white hair called Lola) applied much better than I did.

A broken foot forced me to come back to the UK, where I discovered ‘model days’ when I was plucked from the street by a man working at Vidal Sassoon. Three hours later- patience is needed to be a model and conveniently my charges were at school during the day- I had a lovely new look that was head and shoulders (pardon the pun) above anything I had previously managed to afford. From then on I was hooked. After a modelling incident left me with zebra stripes in my highlights, I stopped modelling and started spending my hard-earned cash. I leave my hairdresser with ‘enhanced’ blonde hair that I love and a receipt that I have to hide from DH. But it really is worth it, since whilst my hair may not be as blonde as it once was, my personality is; not in a Blondes-have-more-fun way, or indeed in a gentlemen-prefer-blondes way (although DH has never complained), but in a ‘Blonde-moment’ way. Which does justify the expense, since I wouldn’t want people crediting me with more intelligence than I deserve based on the fact that I wear glasses.

Share/Bookmark