Blonde is wasted on the young.

As a kid, I was a classic tow-head with “dirty” blonde hair that bleached easily in the sun. (It was clean hair, actually…) It’s a Finnish thing, I think. In spite of accusations from my mom of colouring my hair the summer I turned 14 and my hair bleached the palest of blondes, no dye or bleach touched my hair until I was in my second year of college. Chlorine from the local pool plus many leisurely hours spent drying my hair in the sun and boy watching were all the dye I needed in my teens.

In the first year in college, my Finnish roots started showing properly and my hair descended to mousy silver. All those hours spent in the black curtained theatre or in the library compounded by a serious aversion to swimming in an indoor pool at an all women’s college (what was the point?) had taken their toll.

No chlorine + no sunshine = mousy hair.

Methinks Britt had a teeny bit of chemical assistance… but who could possibly fault her for it? Wowsers!

By the time I had my first child, my mouse hair was fast descending into the depths of light brown. Oh the horror! Too dark to be properly blonde, too light to be properly brunette, mine was classic Scandinavian hair: Not actually a specific colour.

Forget “naturals” like Britt Eckland and any other Scandinavian blonde actress you can name. (Are there any others?) Britt was obviously savvy enough to engage in a little chemical warfare on her dishwater roots. This is because Scandinavian “blonde” is a “between” shade. Unaided chemically by sun, sea, chlorine or good old fashioned peroxide, it is thoroughly nondescript. Unless, like our Viking ancestresses, we spend hours in and out of sea water and even more hours baking under the sun’s heat as we run marathons and throw javelins and wear bras made of shields and horned helmets, most Scandinavian maidens are destined for Mouse-land.

Mm hmm. This is MY kind of opera: Big, blonde and BAAAAD!

Enter my new “BFF.” Her name is “Sun-In.” We met in Tuscany this past May, and have been tight ever since. What is this liquid sunshine made of? My best guess is lemon, a touch of peroxide and unicorn dust. A few sprays of this miracle elixir, blow dry as usual, and voila, I am ready to sing Wagnerian opera!

Ok. So maybe I am cheating nature. Whatever. All I can say is this: A little Sun-In surely beats running triathlons and throwing javelins under a scorching sun. I may not have the muscle tone of a Valkyrie maiden, but at least I’ve got the hair!

Pass me my horned helmet…

Mother Hen

feature photo: jeanlouis david

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