Disclaimer: this is not a hate letter to brunettes.
Dear Brown Hair,
I’ve been thinking about you for quite some time now. I mean you’re always in the back of my mind but it’s been particularly hard to deal with your presence this week. It’s all because you were adressed last Tuesday in second period physics.
I was having a pretty nice day and all until a very rude someone brought you up in a conversation and I was forced to think about your existence.
You know this already but I must make it clear that I absolutely detest you. The worst part of my day is when I look at my reflection and see you. I have watched you with wide eyes and a quivering lip as you have grown darker and darker the last few months.
Many of the women in my family are faux blondes (gasp!) and believe me, I have considered murdering you with chemicals as they have, but I would prefer your death to be a slow and painful one. However when you resist, I will have no problem wielding my bottle of Sun In.
You’re probably wondering why I hate you so. It’s because you remind me of seventh grade – when I was friendless and sported DIY bangs (to my mother’s dismay).
I was introduced to blonde hair in eigth grade, when I finally made friends, started surfing, and attempted to be smart. My headful of hair became so much lighter (my head was enlightened!). Blonde hair means the beach, my best friends, and a sort of acceptance of my awkward adolescent self. It’s running, sixth period art class, Hawaii, and finally starting to become the person I want to be.
I can’t ever keep you, or even love you in this way, brown hair, because happiness suits me much better than you ever did.