David Diaz

Once there was Marilyn Monroe, Mae West, and Grace Kelly, and now we have Britney Spears, Sharon Stone, and Pamela Anderson.

David Diaz

I’m allowed to write this article only because I’m a 7. I don’t mean that I’m a 7 the way Bo Derek was supposedly a 10. I mean that I’m a 7 on the Natural Color Scale for hair, which indicates that I’m officially a blond.

Color scales were invented by hair companies so that we might artificially color our hair more accurately. On one company’s Natural Colors line, 1 is Dark Brown, 6 looks Dark Blonde, and 10 means Ultra Light Blonde. This is the scale upon which I am a 7, a Medium Blond. This is the scale that implies that I am able to think with only 30 percent of my pigment.

So although I’m a male blond, I’ve decided to mention my own intimacy with the subject of Blondness because this article is about Blondeness, and I’m hoping that my hair color may pardon me for any politically incorrect observations that I have just made, and for all the politically incorrect observations that I am about to make.

Now if my own Blondness is not credential or justification enough for you, or if you are given to being offended by broad generalizing statements about diverse groups of people, then get ready to set your ire in an uproar. I apologize in advance. And I urge you to recognize that down beneath it all, beneath the cruel insinuations and the patronizing jokes, I’m sincerely searching for some solid facts, for some grounded truth at the roots of the blonde myth.

One fact is this: here in San Diego, we bathe and breathe in the land of the blonde. (Incidentally, the word itself, “blond,” is French in origin, which explains the gender sensitivity: it’s one of the few English words that change their spellings to refer to a man or to a woman, either a blond or a blonde.) Look all around you, blondes here, blonds there, blondes and blonds are everywhere. It’s either something in the air or something in a bottle. Natural or not, San Diego’s got lots of fair locks on top.

Yes…diaphanous flaxen tresses, golden waves of mane…but soon, they may be gone?

Fact or folly, the BBC reported that people with blonde hair are an endangered species. The rumors alleged that natural blondes will die out within the next 200 years. Is it an inherent inanity, I wondered, some kind of “ditz gene” that has placed our precious blondes in jeopardy? Perhaps flakiness works against life’s most fundamental goal: survival.

Apparently blonde hair is caused by a recessive gene that must be present on both sides of a child’s family in the grandparents’ generation. According to the study, this condition is growing increasingly rare. The researchers believe that so-called bottle blondes may be to blame for the demise of their natural rivals. They suggest that dyed blondes are more attractive to men, who choose them as partners over true blondes.

In nature, this phenomenon is called “mimicry.” Mimicry is defined by the Encyclopedia Britannica as a biological occurrence “characterized by the superficial resemblance of two or more organisms that are not closely related taxonomically.” This resemblance is supposed to “confer an advantage — such as protection from predation — upon one or both organisms through some form of ‘information flow’ that passes between the organisms” (the real blonde and the fake blonde) and the “animate agent of selection” (the unwitting male); for instance, “that blonde’s hair makes her hot.”

But what makes blondes more attractive in the first place? Do gentlemen genuinely prefer them?

My theory (as a gentleman) is that blondes are more attractive for the same reason that moths like light: bright and sparkly things are more attractive. (The moth thinks that bright light means heat, and it usually does. The man thinks that bright hair means hot, and it usually does.) I think the sex drive of a man really does render his taste that simple. Bright and sparkly equals good.

And let’s face it, the blonde myth, such as it stands — that men favor them, that they have more fun, that they’re ditzy and dreamy, that they’re softer in some way — is a guy thing, mostly, a fairy tale that men invented to balance out the power these brightest and sparkliest women have over them. Perhaps this myth was once about scarcity as well, about the relative value of rare things. But hydrogen peroxide should have trimmed that trouble a bit. Now we read estimates that as many as 70 percent of American women are or have been or will spend at least some of their lives as blondes.

True blonde or fake blonde…aside from whether “the carpet matches the drapes,” really, what’s the difference?

To help answer this question, I invoke a dead German philosopher who was not particularly blond. Walter Benjamin had a theory about the “aura” of objects. It’s a theory about originality versus commodity, about the genuine as opposed to copies, and Benjamin came up with it many years before the invention of Xerox or implants. For Benjamin, “aura” is what surrounds a thing’s unique existence — its originality and authenticity. The idea is that reproduction withers the aura, detaching the object from its tradition and “liquidating the traditional value of the cultural heritage.” In other words, by now, in our cultural situation, we don’t much care any longer whether she’s a real blonde or just some highlighted imitation, so long as she really looks blonde.

And this is because Blondeness (true or fake) is more than just a hair color. It’s a context. It’s something you’re in, even when you’re only near it. It’s an energy that pervades. A kind of influence. A weather.

A dizziness.

My good friend Anne Bacon is a blonde. I’m surprised to think of her this way, because she’s also one of the most thoughtful and contemplative people I know. She stands about five foot nothing, has one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen, and when I met her years ago she had very light hair cascading all the way down past her waist. When I started working on this article, I called her up (she lives in San Francisco now), and I told her that I wanted to ask her a few questions.

Okay, Anne. Do blondes have more fun?

“I’ve got short hair now, Geoff, really short. I cut it all off. And as soon as I did, the shorter I cut it, the less fun I had.”

Really?

“No. I’m just kidding.”

Ha ha. You got me. But wait. Isn’t that irony? Are you using irony with me? Isn’t irony one of those witty conversational devices that should be beyond the grasp of a true blonde?

“All my life I’ve had three judgments to overcome: I’m small, I’m a woman, and I have blonde hair. But Blondeness, especially, is just a state of other people’s minds, how they perceive certain characteristics, like when I do flaky things or act aloof.”

Can men be blond?

“They can definitely be flaky and aloof, but…well, I guess the surfer dude can be blond.”

Ah, yes. The surfer dude. I know one of these guys, in fact I work with him, blond hair and all, although I don’t know if he actually surfs. He just strikes me as being very blond.

I told Adam Bokor that I was doing a story on blondes, and I asked him if he thought blondes have more fun. “My impression is, and I think I’ve had some experience with this, I think, you know, blonde girls? They’re kind of stupider than brunettes, they’re like, dumb and ditzy, you know? Which is just what I’ve noticed.”

Which didn’t even answer the question I asked him. Very well. Um, Adam, don’t you think you’re overgeneralizing? Maybe that’s not the case with ALL blondes?

“No. Just the girls. They’re just not too smart. All of them. I don’t know why.”

But what about men? What about you, Adam? Aren’t you a blond?

“Yeah. I have blond hair. But I’m not ‘a blonde,’ if you know what I mean. The stupidity thing doesn’t apply to guys, I guess.”

Nope. Doesn’t apply to guys.

I go out looking for some guys, not necessarily blonds, to ask them if, in fact, gentlemen prefer ladies with lighter locks. (And these are actual quotes, I kid you not.)

Man One: “Blondes are hot, but they’re, you know…maybe the sun hits their heads too much.”

Man Two: “They’re alluring and attractive without even knowing it. I think it has something to do with the Southern California sunshine. Their hair just glows in the sun.”

Man Three: “They’re like tits. I love ’em and I don’t know why.”

Man Four: “I’m not more attracted to blondes in general, but I am more attracted to them now. Why? Because my girlfriend’s not a blonde.”

Man Five: “I think my daughter’s turning out to be a blonde. Which is great, because it means someday she’ll be able to get a rich husband.”

Man Six: “They’re Five Diamond. They’re Top of the Line. They just catch your eye.”

Man Seven: “Blonde, shmonde. Who cares? Hair is hair.”

I ask my sister, Courtenay, who is roughly a 6 (dark blonde), about Blondeness. I ask her if gentlemen prefer her. “Well,” she says, “blondes think that gentlemen prefer them. But women without glasses also think that men will not make passes at women with glasses. But since glasses are associated with intelligent women, there are probably few blondes with glasses.” So says my bespectacled number 6 sister. Then she elucidates, “Blondes who are smart can pretend they’re not, because no one expects anything more of them, because they’re blonde. And blondes who aren’t smart kind of have a built-in excuse.”

I then ask my sister if she prefers blonds, blond men. “No way. There’s this blond guy who lives in my building whose hair, eyes, and skin are all exactly the same color. It’s like this champagne-beige. He has almost no outstanding features at all. So I think true blondes lack contrast. And I think that’s why men like them. Men don’t like assertive things. So things they can’t see, that don’t command attention, that are unobtrusive and without a lot of contrasts, those are the things that are most attractive to men.”

Which runs exactly counter to my theory that men like bright and sparkly things. But either way, my sister and I both seem to hold a rather low esteem for men.

Then my sister offers this hypothesis: “This country was originally inhabited by very dark people. And it was invaded by dark people. So there is definitely a novelty to Blondeness. There’s an objectification to it, because they were the last ones here. The objectification of novelty.”

My sister’s a poststructuralist literary critic who’s getting her Ph.D. That’s why she throws around phrases like “objectification of novelty.” That’s also why she doesn’t seem very “blonde” at all.

My hairdresser might be blonde. That is, sometimes Effie Bourne’s a blonde, and sometimes she’s not. I think she must be an expert on the subject, since she colors other people’s hair for a living. She’s made quite a few blondes in her life.

“I don’t think blondes have more fun,” Bourne tells me. “I’ve been every color. And it doesn’t make a difference. Nothing’s changed. I’ve been everything from level 1 to level 10.” (Bourne’s the one who taught me about hair-color levels. When I interviewed her for this article, she opened a giant glossy book across our laps. The book had little downy swatches of tresses indexed and filed throughout it, like samples of fabric or paint.) “Right now, I’m a level 5. Light brown.”

And how’s that going? I ask her.

“I’ve been a blonde for about 80 percent of my life,” Bourne says. “But I always change. I get bored. People feel different in the hair color that they have. Like, if it’s been three months and they haven’t had their hair retouched, then they get grow-out, and they might feel depressed. Although some people wear grow-out now as a style. But I don’t like it.”

“Grow-out” is the hair specialist’s term for the gradual appearance of darker root hair beneath the previous hair-coloring treatment. Grow-out is becoming a kind of style of its own, either due to design or due to laziness, or perhaps even because of a lack of funds. Hair-coloring treatments are expensive, $75 to $120, and to keep their grow-out from showing, many women (and men, I guess) will have to color their hair every four or five weeks or so.

Bourne tells me that the California fashion is to be a blonde. “With most of my clients, I’m either highlighting them or making their hair lighter in some way. But I don’t think that men are more attracted to blondes. I think people have gotten sick of seeing blondes. I think men like someone a little more natural looking. Some women might feel that darker hair makes them look older or more wrinkled, but that’s not true unless you put the wrong color on them. The wrong color can change your skin tone. It’s just like wearing clothing. We can change our hair color nowadays just as easily as we change our wardrobes. But you have to put the right hair tone on the right skin tone.”

That’s what I always say! (Sort of.) What I do say is I think the whole package has got to match. But I also go one step further…I think we should all remain just as nature intended us. Nature doesn’t generally wrap unmatched packages.

So what about the people whom nature intended as brunettes? What about those “opposite-blondes”? What about Brunetteness?

There are no books about brunettes, few pedigrees, zero myths, not a single famous actress who draws special attention for her darker locks, no websites, no magazines, no organizations dedicated to the darker side of the hair. Poor, poor brunettes. (And they receive only a couple of little paragraphs in this article as well…)

And redheads?

But back to blondes! Blondes have all the pedigrees and stars and websites. In fact, they’ve always been kind of famous, right down through the ages.

In Roman times, women used to dye their hair blonde with quicklime, wood ash, and old wine. Supposedly they did this because they were jealous of the fair-haired German women brought back as captives by their husbands.

In September 1875, in Springfield, Illinois, the “Blondes” and “Brunettes” played their first match. Newspapers heralded the event as the “first game of baseball ever played in public for gate money between feminine ball-tossers.”

Once there was Marilyn Monroe, Mae West, and Grace Kelly, and now we have Britney Spears, Sharon Stone, and Pamela Anderson.

Many of the most famous fairy tales center on a blonde character. Goldilocks, Rapunzel, Cinderella.

In such a climate, it’s not difficult to understand how little blonde girls can grow into their roles. They’re supposed to exhibit these traits that are associated with them.

A silly story often circulates that intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair. Brown and red are coppery colors, so this is supposed to explain why blondes are dumb. Apparently, there is no scientific basis to this story whatsoever.

Among the fallacies and fables related to Blondeness, there are, of course, a few solid facts: (1) Blond beards grow faster than darker beards. (2) In Finland in 1998, a group of blondes became so fed up and disillusioned with the treatment of blondes that they formed the International Blondes Association. At their first meeting, Pamela Anderson Lee was the keynote speaker. (3) Many people believe all Swedish women are blonde, that Sweden is populated by blonde bombshells more than any other country. However, true blondes make up only approximately 50 percent of Sweden’s 9 million people. (4) Mummified blondes 4000 years old were discovered in China’s northwestern province of Xinjiang. (5) A blonde head of hair has usually many more strands than red- or dark-haired heads. (6) Artists frequently portrayed their subjects as blonde, even when history belied the point. The artist Tiepolo, for example, depicted Cleopatra with strawberry blonde curls. (7) The most popular doll in the history of the world, Barbie, is a blonde. (8) Supermarket shoppers prefer blondes as cashiers. A UK-based Somerfield Shoppers Survey stated that blondes appeared much calmer and busier than their darker-haired coworkers.

Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love and fertility, set the blonde standard. Eve covered herself with her golden locks in paradise. Queen Elizabeth I ruled with it. Many early-19th-century women achieved Blondeness by applying saffron, white wine, olive oil, hay seeds, ivy bark, soap flakes, ammonia, pigeon dung, or horse urine. Later, in the late 1800s, ding! Hydrogen peroxide! And nowadays, there are more effective, more natural, and much gentler herbal rinses that are used to achieve the elusive state of total Blondeness.

But all those half-breed wannabes will never be able to match the natural blonde for her irreplaceable overtones and connotations, for her “highlights.”

The natural blonde thinks that a quarterback is a refund; she puts lipstick on her forehead when she wants to make up her mind; and she tells me to meet her at the corner of “Walk” and “Don’t Walk.” The natural blonde takes a ruler to bed to see how long she sleeps. If she spoke her mind, the natural blonde would be speechless. And when she heard that 90 percent of all crimes happened around the home, the natural blonde picked up and moved.

The thing about blonde jokes is, they’re funny. They just are. Whether there’s a grain of truth to them or not. Blondes often make good fodder for humor.

Two blondes are walking down the street. One notices a compact on the sidewalk and leans down to pick it up. She opens it, looks in the mirror, and says, “Hmm, this person looks familiar.” She hands it to the second blonde. The second blonde looks in the mirror and says, “You dummy, it’s me!”

She Was So Blonde That She…(1) Took her new scarf back to the store because it was too tight. (2) Couldn’t learn to water ski because she couldn’t find a lake with a slope. (3) Can’t work in a pharmacy because the bottles won’t fit into the typewriter. (4) Got excited because she finished a jigsaw puzzle in six months and the box said 2 to 4 years. (5) Was trapped on an escalator for hours when the power went out. (6) Couldn’t call 911 because there was no 11 on the phone. (7) Thought the capital of California was C.

Ah, blondes. Different, endangered, easily typecast…alternately raised onto gilded pedestals, then trampled into gold dust underfoot.

And where does that leave them? Where does that leave the rest of us?

Incidentally, I had my sister proofread this article, and she cried “foul” from her perch in far-off Iowa, insisting that the piece is premised upon a fallacy. I mention this now in the hope that if what she says is true, then my mentioning it will vindicate me for my (unintentional) lie. The thing is, my sister insists that her hair is auburn and that mine’s auburn as well.

Blonde or auburn, trash or treasure.

Whatever. My sister knows what color taupe is, so she’s probably right about our hair, regardless of what Bourne and her color scale indicated to me. But now I wonder aloud about the veracity of fact required by newspaper articles. Am I still allowed to claim an intimacy with this subject? Is my blondness an unintentional fiction? Or am I actually a blond? Does it matter?

By now we have witnessed the wanton objectification of human beings, the devaluing commodification of those objectified humans, rampant prejudgment based on questionable stereotypes, and a pervasive tone of insincerity and irony. Great. Is the way we react to Blondeness, and the way we treat blondes, indicative in some way of our cultural situation at large?

I wonder now if I’m required to deliver a sweeping insight, some manner of wise reassurance, or to find an essential lesson obscured in these flighty meditations of mine?

Or can I just cry “blond!”?