Propagation Of The Honest Man

It’s Monday morning. You’ve just returned from one of those fantastic holidays. Everything was just right. The cocktails had just the right kick, the sun was just the right temperature, the breeze billowed across the beach at just the right time, the sea was blue enough, the sky was blue enough and now you’re back to reality and you’re more than blue enough!!

What to do??

On your way to the local deli at lunchtime, you glance nonchalantly at the magazine rack of the news stand you pass every day. An image leaps off the page and presents itself to you and with it, you surmise, a solution.

Once you’re in the salon, you begin to relax, slowly, still not surely. Coffee comes, slightly cold, but could be worse. Flicking through a magazine, every model smiles, smirks, pouts back at you, each one with flawlessly stylised hair! But you have no time to worry about green eyed monsters rearing their horned heads as you’re whisked away to your expectant appointment.

The stylist has barely asked you how you are or what you want when you announce those four words heard up and down the country on a daily basis: ‘I WANNA BE BLONDE!!’

‘Are you sure?’ enquires the stylist…

‘YES YES YES! DO IT DO IT DO IT!’

‘W’ok then..’ your stylist retorts.

With a flash of foil, an allingment of a tail comb and a scent of bleach on the air ‘work’ was set to start.

Fast forward to a few hours later, brushes down, hot straightening irons cooling on the heat mat, and stylist du jour has completed his makeover on your newly blondised mane. After admiring your reflective frame front and back, back and front, you are ready and steady to depart and impart your new look upon an unsuspecting world.

Suddenly,  something  dawns on you as you nonchalantly survey the salon…a revelation; and not a good one.

The incessant hum of the dryer. The drone of the indescript music. The lacklustre chat of the staff. It all seems to be closing in on you.

You’re fabulous blonde status seems to crunch like garbage beneath your stilettos as you realise how many other women are currently in the process of receiving highlights in the form of a blonde crown just like you.

Suddenly the stench of bleach seems to be suffocating.

‘O MY GOD! IM GENERIC BLONDE!’  You cry in your head, fumbling in your oversized handbag for the cough up cash, so you can exit sharply still smiling serenely as if you’re on medication. Your hair may not be blue but your mood certainly has returned to a stagnant shade.

The real solution sounds like so. There comes a time, ladies and ladettes when you just gotta ask yourself what kind of blonde you are and what kind of blonde you wanna be?? The truth is blonde can be dull, lifeless, mundane and, pray not, green hued.

Delete as appropriate: I would like to be blow-up blonde/ghinja/nicotine/golden honey/illuminating ash. Or would you rather bypass these aforementioned and head straight to the top, to the best kept secret of a fluid mergeance of natural tones which flow into one another like a waterfall with colours cascading and colliding in an effortless painting on natural fibric canvas.

You decide, my dearlings, but i do know which one i would choose…