An experiment

Perhaps I’m a little carried away with pictures of myself. A rush of blood to the head. Blame the webcam, if you must. Blame the bank holiday weekend. Blame my first Easter with no Easter eggs. But here goes:

Some things you may not have known about me, but – hell – now you do.

– I am a bottle blonde.
I started dyeing my hair blonde when I was fifteen. It isn’t lemon yellow: not that pale, early Madonna, (whispers, perhaps hoping that if you think something that’s quite misogynist, it’s, you know, ok if you don’t think it loudly) cheap blonde. I like to think that it’s more of a honey blonde. Dark blonde underneath, with golden-ish streaks on top. I have no idea how it is that the colour comes out so well: all I do is buy a £5.99 box of hair-dye about every 9 months and whack it all over. It goes a slightly bizarre toffee colour for a few days, then settles down into its normal, really (I flatter myself) quite natural looking streakiness.

Even my hairdresser, last time I was there, said to me, "Your hair colour is lovely. Do we colour it here?" and I had to shrug and say, "Er. No. I do it myself for about one twentieth of the price."

All I can think is that I am somehow, intrinsically, naturally meant to have hair this colour. It’s just that due to some cruel twist of fate, I have accidentally ended up with hair which is more accurately described as ‘dark mouse’. And the universe, so often resembling someone with a really sick sense of humour, has just for once conceded defeat and allowed me to have what should really be my hair colour, on the condition that I dye it occasionally, and then don’t complain too much when, ravaged by so much peroxide, it starts to get a bit like wire-wool at the ends.

I once dyed it reddish brown. It was an amazing experience. I started to wear all black. I wore gold eyeshadow. But I went back to blonde in the end.

– Long, dark eyelashes run in my family
It’s not very English or very fashionable to admit such things, but my sisters and I are all very proud of our eyelashes. We are mascara-fiends. I am a sucker for new mascara. The more ridiculous the name of the mascara-wand, or the pseudo-scientific new ingredient, the more impressed I am. My friend Katherine wails, "But you don’t need to wear mascara! Your eyelashes are so long and dark anyway!" But that, as Eve and I both know, is just not the point. I once met an ex’s new girlfriend for the first time, and was incredibly nervous and insecure about it. I did what any normal woman would do in this situation, and spent all evening comparing myself to her. When I spoke to my sister on the phone as I left, she said, "So what was she like?" I replied nervously, "Oh, you know. Tall. Thin. Rich. Clever." She laughed and said, "Yeah, but what were her eyelashes like?" "Hah. Short." "Hah. Stubby?" "Yeah." We laughed. And I felt a lot better.

We also have dark eyebrows. Which means that occasionally, when I’ve just dyed my hair, I look in the mirror, and find that Charlie from Busted is staring out at me. (For American readers, or indeed for British readers with more of a life than me, Charlie was a member of a boyband called Busted. He has peroxide, very blonde hair, with huge black beetling eyebrows like big furry caterpillars) But these things happen.

– I cut my own fringe. Sometimes with nail clippers, if things are really desperate. Often without a mirror.
I had a thick, blunt fringe when I was little. A great mop of a fringe that hung like a curtain down my forehead. Growing it out took forever, and for what seemed like months I gazed at the world through a ragged curtain of hair that my Mum would vainly try to pull back with clips.

So it was with some surprise that I decided to get a fringe cut again when I was seventeen. Everyone tried to talk me out of it. And even now, people will occasionally ask me why I don’t grow it out. Then I pull it off my forehead and show them what I’d look like without it, and almost unanimously, they then agree that in fact, I should keep it. Fringes are fashionable at the moment, but even when they’re not, I still keep mine, because a) I am a bit of a conservative when it comes to my hair, and b) I am just a fringe person, and that’s the way things are.

– I always thought I had grey eyes.
It turns out I don’t. I have colour-change eyes. My eyes are a greyey blue in artificial light (as above). But very occasionally, they are a bright, teal-coloured turquoise blue in bright sunlight. And I like that.

So that’s me. I’ve updated the look and feel of my diary. I’ve added a profile picture, and now I’ve uploaded a picture of me. I am determined to be a more regular diarist here, and am forcing myself to write entries even when I’ve not got much to say. Here’s hoping this new verbosity doesn’t become boring,

with love
therumtumtugger
xxx