I have always wanted to have my hair dyed. As children, my sisters, Julie and Katie, and I played with dolls that had pink, blue or purple hair. Perhaps this trend was a marketing ploy to increase kids’ creativity and early color-recognition skills, but for some reason, it really stuck with me.
How can I be expected to look “normal” when my childhood influences were Care Bears, Popples, Rainbow Brite and the Smurfs?
My parents have always suspected that I have tendencies to be colorful and abstract. They pretended not to notice when at age 4, I put on every piece of clothing I owned and marched down the stairs calling myself “The Bride.” They looked the other way when I bounced around the house eating a banana and shouting, “Monkey on the loose!”
Amazingly, my parents didn’t acknowledge I was an odd child even when I developed my sudden late-’80s Pee Wee Herman obsession, which, truth be told, I wish I could forget about. (Something about that bow tie — I can’t explain it.) Through all these things, Mom and Dad fed my unusual need to be different by thinking it was just a phase. Now I must pause here to laugh and wonder when this phase, which has been going strong for 16 years, will end.
I am considered what the labelers call a “punk,” i.e. I wear baggy pants and enjoy obnoxious music. But recently I decided to take my “punkness” one step further with the ultimate image-changer: unnaturally dyed hair.
Of course, my parents had some objections (“What if they call you `Cotton Candy Hair’?” “What if you look like a freak?”) but I presented numerous points in my favor. After listening to my presentation, they were convinced, and agreed that I could get my hair done as long as it didn’t require bleaching.
After many hours of careful thinking, I finally decided on a deep purple. As predicted, the response from kids at school was great. Luckily, all offered opinions were polite. I believe that my title of “The Girl with the Purple Hair” is a noble one, considering what it could be. Being known as “That Girl Who’s Getting a C in Algebra” or “The Girl Who Almost Gave the Driver’s Ed Teacher a Heart Attack” is not a good way to spend high school.
As I basked in compliments from my multi-hued friends, I decided to share my story with the public. I’m not a selfish person, and I think that everyone should gamble with his or her appearance at least once.
And so, in the great tradition of “Why We Should Get a Computer” and “Why You Should Let Julie Play Drums,” here are the arguments I presented to my parents. (Pay attention, freaks, these may help you as well.):
– I am a child of the ’80s. Everyone was a punk in the ’80s. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so easily influenced at such a young age, but to me, the coolest thing I could ever do would be to have an odd shade of hair color. Hippies had their weirdo fashion things too — right, Mom?
– My 16th birthday is a month away, and all I want for my birthday is to have it done. I don’t want a big party or any other presents. But in a way, it really is a present: It is the gift of your saying “I trust you,” and shows that you want to feed my creativity and my Constitutional right to express myself.
– Hair dye is not permanent. Would you rather have me get a tattoo or a piercing?
– You were going to let Julie have a tattoo for her birthday, and just between us, I have always been a lot more mature than she is.
– I’m an artist! I’m supposed to look weird. Don’t worry about what teachers will say. It is now second semester and all of my teachers and peers have formed their opinions of me. Plus if people judge me on the way I look, they have the problem, not me.
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– Kids who are free with their looks are admired at my school. No one with pink or purple hair has ever been beaten up for their style choices.
– Maybe you’re wondering what having a daughter with weird hair would say about your parenting skills. If people think bad things about you for having an “out of control” child, you can set them straight by reminding them that you allowed it to happen. You believe in raising creative, nice daughters who always obey. Having me stroll around with purple hair will then only state that you are trusting, loving, and nurturing parents.
– You must know that I’m not doing this to be cool or trendy. In the almost 16 years I’ve been alive, have you ever seen me conform to fashion? Am I not the girl who wears jewel-encrusted sneakers, silver pants and T-shirts that espouse bold political statements? I do what makes me comfortable and my peers can take it or leave it.