Blue isn’t the warmest colour, it’s my dream colour.
When my brother and I were little we used to fight about our eye colours: his green, mine blue, each argued for the superiority of our assigned shades. “The trees are green so green is better,” he’d remind me.
“The sky is blue!”
“All these plants are green. Leaves are green. The grass is green…you only have the sky.”
“Oceans are blue, too.”
“No, that’s just the reflection of the sky.” And thus he’d claim victory.
But that didn’t stop me from painting my walls different hues of blue. From imagining the billion blues in the ocean, even if they were mere reflections of the sky. And then, blue clothes and glitter and lipstick. The only unattainable blue (a parental restriction) was the hair.
And then I grew up. And I shaved my head and dyed it red and dyed it blond and back to brown — knowing at some point the fun would have to stop because I’d become an adult. A grown woman. And grown women can’t do that shit, especially ones trying to be respected journalists. The hair experiments were varied and enjoyable, sometimes reflective of my mental state and at other times wrongfully presumed to be (“Did you break up? Did something bad happened?” No. I just felt like shaving/going red/etc.).
Until I landed on television as a broadcast journalist/host and realized that this may be it. I had somehow skipped a blue period, which was devastating. Last week I turned things around and got my blue mane. I love it of course, and my grandma doesn’t, and my brother is kind of blase about it, and friends and colleagues stare and offer real or fake compliments (I LOVE IT! / It’s very…blue!). Most people again ask me why I have done it and I feel stupid explaining it because that’s being racist with colours: no one asks why you get highlights, ever.
These are all expected reactions but what I enjoy most is the subtle looks of strangers and renewed (first) impressions. It’s amazing how hairstyles and haircuts sway outside perception. Every time I forget that I have a bunch of blue on my head, I’m reminded of it by a commuter’s judgmental glance, a bartender’s dirty curiosity (She must be adventurous), an old man’s confusion or a young girl’s enchantment (A mermaid!). I like playing around with hair. I like going to work with unkept hair and I like waking up with sex hair and I like waiting for months, years for it to grow and cut it like it meant nothing. Maybe because it’s supposed to mean everything to women: “have luscious, healthy looking hair with our 25 complimentary products that you need to use every day. Don’t forget to use the hair cream after you use our shampoo and hair conditioner but only before the leave-in-serum and top it up with our limited-edition spray and mousse. And then, voila, you look ok until the next time you wash your hair.”
But also because I want to. I want to shock myself. I like stimulating my own character, exiting my comfort zone, challenging other’s perception of me to find exactly what I think I am to them and to myself. And so here it is. Blue.