“Why do you dye your hair?”: wrong answers only

I imagine myself having this conversation with my dad, where he sees I’ve dyed my hair for maybe the tenth time in my life (which is honestly not a lot), and he just goes MENTAL. Because my hair is so naturally pretty, because I’m gonna end up like my aunt (whose hair is not the nicest, to be honest), because I chose an ugly colour, because I’m too young… the list can go on for a while. And he’ll finish his speech by asking, as if we hadn’t had this conversation a thousand times before: “Why do you dye your hair?”. 

But this time, I know better. I’ve prepared myself for this moment. I reach for my back pocket, I grab the piece of paper I delicately folded in four and in which I wrote with my favourite pink pen, and tell my dad the truth of why I dye my hair:

  • I wanna impress my monthly crush/love interest/whatever/none of your business. Like, honestly, nope. Got better things to do, like look at myself in public mirrors, for example.
  • If I dye it red, I’m probably a witch/want to be trialled as one. Goals.
  • I know I’ll get a better job if I become a blondie. To be honest, this could be true.
  • I don’t wanna go on that date and I know they’ll make an excuse as soon as they see my bright orange fringe. 
  • Dying your hair will automatically make me less attractive to that dude who said he likes “natural women”. 
  • I have to be the one pissing off that aunt/uncle/relative at the family reunion with my pink hair. 
  • With so many chemicals near my brain, I have a chance to make this my origin superhero/villain story (haven’t decided which one yet). Maybe some accident involving the bleaching?
  • It’ll attract less birds shitting on me? I’m sure this has been proved.
  • I wanna cause a car crash with my flawless purple waves. Because I thrive in chaos.
  • Changing my identity and running away from the country? Hell yeah. 
  • Rob a bank. I gotta get that money I invested somehow. I dye it to rob, I rob to dye. 
  • They gotta match my nails. And I change the colour once a week, so. 

My dad looks at me, shakes his head and tells me I never found a decent job while being blonde. He’s not entirely wrong, so I guess we both win, somehow.

Siham Lee is a Chilean writer living in Glasgow. She’s currently doing a Mlitt in Creative Writing while writing short stories to keep herself alive and mentally stable in the midst of working on her first novel. The rest of the time she’s either rewatching Brooklyn 99 for the ninth time or eating all the cookies in the house.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *