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Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Why (part of) My Hair Is Pink

You dye your hair pink and there are a lot of misconceptions about why you did it. There are three main categories that these misconceptions fall under. They are:

  1. You want to be cool.
  2. You want to get attention.
  3. You must have misplaced your brain.

In my case, all of these assumptions are a little off. 1. I have never been, nor will I ever be, cool. 2. I like attention, but most of the time I don’t really notice it. I’m too busy either watching my children or thinking very deep thoughts about what I’m about to do. Grocery shopping takes such concentration. For example, the other day I was walking on BYU campus and a group of moms with their kids walked by. They were all looking at me. Not nasty, but just curious. I couldn’t figure out why. Then it dawned on me that I have pink hair. And in answer to number three, I rarely do things I don’t mean to do and I generally think things through until tiny little wear holes appear on the subject.

So, why is my hair pink? You are going to be really bored by my reasons, because there are a lot of them.

First of all, I’ve always been conservative. I’ve never been a trend-setter. I’ve always made cautious decisions. I’ve never cut my hair really short. I’m careful not to wear too much mascara. I don’t wear lipstick because it makes my lips stand out too much. I’ve never knowingly shown any cleavage in public. You get the picture. I’ve seen other people with pink hair and thought it looked so cute. I really wanted to try it, but I knew I never would. This brought out my little rebellious side, which has been dormant forever, but has recently been making itself heard. Not since I refused to participate in family home evening has my rebel side been so dominant. So, thinking that I would never do something like that made me itch to do it, just to prove that I would. Not to other people, but to myself. Because it felt out of character for me.

Which brings us to reason number two. I am 27. Now, I realize this is ridiculously young in the big picture. But, I’m getting to that point when I’m starting to realize that I am not younger than everyone else any more. As a teenager, you assume everyone is older than you are. I haven’t given that up yet. I watch American Idol and realize if I ever woke up with an amazing singing voice in place of my my weedy warble I would be one of the oldest ones there. That makes me feel old. I started realizing that if I wanted to dye my hair pink, I should do it now. Not that I couldn’t do it later, but sheesh, I want to feel young and not boring. Because basically my life consists of scrapbooking and changing diapers.

Which brings us to reason number three. A lot of my life is defined by being a mom. The thing is, while it’s a big part of my life, it’s not my entire identity. Yet, it’s not really apparent when I’m out with my four children that I’m not a stereotypical mother of four. Sure, I might have done things the textbook Mormon way, but I’m so much more than that. The pink hair is an expression of that fun, funky, artistic side of me that doesn’t get to show much, unless you stop to talk to me and I tell you that I designed and sewed my daughter’s skirt, made the jewelry myself, crocheted her top and sewed my own wallet. I’ve grown into a free thinker and you can’t tell by just looking at my life. I take care of my kids, volunteer at school occasionally, work in the Primary, go grocery shopping, but all of those public things don’t define me. I’m open to new ideas, I try my best to be kind to everyone, I try not to judge, find good things in weird, not-church-culture-approved places. I guess I wanted people to know that even though I do all the things I’m supposed to do, it’s because I choose to do them. I don’t want anyone else defining me.

Reason number four: I’ve always cared so much what other people thought of me. This means that when I played at a friend’s house, I was too scared to ask for a glass of water. It means that I find myself apologizing for the slightest mess in my house. It means that I would say yes because I was too scared to say no. It means that I had no confidence and less self esteem. I’m done with all of that. I guess in a way, it was to prove to myself that I really don’t mind what people may think of me. If they choose to judge me by my hair, I’m ok with that; not that I’ve heard one negative thing so far, but someone has probably thought something. I’ve grown a thick skin and I’m proud of it.

Plus, it’s just cute and David thinks it’s hot.

And there you have it. Are you bored yet? I wasn’t kidding when I said it would take a long time to explain. Now that I’ve explained it, the coolness factor just went waaaaaayyyy down.

I've started a new blog: Come follow my crafting adventures on my new blog. Find me at: creativeirony.com.