The new celebrity craze for “chestnut” locks
isn’t doing anything for me. I mean, who seriously likes the
colour brown? It’s the colour of mud, and that’s not
very pretty, is it? Not in itself anyway. It is different, of
course when we’re talking about those delectable rugby gents
returning from a game all sweaty and rumpled – a bit of mud
tarnishing a very sexy pair of legs is definitely yummy –
but if we’re honest, ladies, it’s not the mud in itself
we’re attracted to now, is it? And stuff and nonsense to what they say about the insatiable
female’s chocoholism – I wouldn’t even be tempted
by chocolate if it wasn’t for Cadbury’s purple shiny
wrapper (gets me every time, damn it.). And even then I’m thinking, chocolate only gets away with
being brown because once you’ve torn the wrapper its
devoured before you get a chance to cry “Willy Wonka!”
(as well you might). When a confectioner’s window is going
for opulence, its those slabs of coconut ice and fluorescent
sugar mice (yes really, check out the selection of rodents on
display in the cake shop in the covered market) which look
prettier on display. And so on to hair. This new trend trespassing on the terrain
of traditionally terrific tresses (think Britney, Marilyn,
Rapunzel etc) and undoing the decadent ‘dos of Holly Valance
and Beyonce beggars belief. And as for Christina Aguilera –
I adored your hair a la Genie in a Bottleblonde – really my
dear, what were you thinking? It would seem that the peroxide has addled your brain –
and well it must when you consider that these same beauties’
partiality for the St Tropez shimmer has kept pace with the
fashion for follicles. Anyone who seriously wants to waste those precious few moments
more in bed of a lazy morning in order to smother their limbs in
strange smelling orange (sorry – ‘sunkissed’)
gloop must, quite honestly, be as mad as their mother (with it
‘taking two to Tango’ and all.) There are better
excuses for missing that lecture, surely? And then of course, the end product of the current trend
results in an eerily monotone shade of hair and skin like a
photograph negative. There was one such “toffee skinned
brunette” in my Sixth Form who earned herself the
unflattering nickname ‘Dairy Milk’ (and not for having
an intimate relationship with the vending machine). Quite frankly, I think the celebrity Atkins-fad is easier to
swallow. And when the orange gets deeper and patchier with every
application, it would seem that the lovelies don’t even
bother to wipe the muck off at night – which brings me back
to my first point – mud, yuck. Does it show that I’m a
pale s k i n n e d n a t u r a l blonde?ARCHIVE: 5th week TT 2004
Gentleman Prefer Blondes
