Hair Dye Teachings

By Andrea Scarpino

For Gracie’s memorial, I dyed green highlights into my hair. Her favorite color was green, so with the help of her mother and sister, I bleached big streaks of my hair, then covered the bleach with green. I loved it. It reminded me of Gracie. It reminded me not to take myself so seriously. Reminded me that beauty is socially constructed, means different things to different people, shouldn’t be given the weight we give it. With all the eye creams and wrinkle erasers I’m told to buy, all the products that will keep me looking young—and therefore beautiful, and therefore relevant, and therefore important—it felt nice to look in the mirror and see those green locks, watch how they changed as I washed my hair.

Back in Marquette, the green got quite the reception. Some people asked why I chose green, some just cocked their head as if they were trying to make sure they were really seeing what they thought they were seeing. A teenager in the grocery store audibly gasped as I walked by, grabbed her friend’s hand and said, “That girl has green hair!” After that, I felt some sort of civic duty to keep my hair dyed fun colors—some sort of education of the masses, an extolling of differences. A superficial extolling, yes. But sometimes that’s a start.

Then the green mostly faded, in some places to a turquoise blue, in others a light grassy shade. In some, just bleach. I started to feel a little unkempt, especially since I’ll be seeing my colleagues and students at the beginning of January. I started to worry that I wouldn’t be taken as seriously in a professional setting with variously-colored hair. So I bought another jar of dye—this time a deep purple—to cover what’s left of the green and re-color the bleached places.

So far, the purple isn’t as visible as the green once was, blends in more with my dark hair. And I’m realizing I don’t really like that. That I prefer the brighter, crazier coloring. That it makes more sense to me, somehow. Yes, it’s only hair dye, and there are more important things in the world to think about. But in this youth and thinness valuing culture, with all the emphasis we’re told to put on looking “right,” looking the part, fitting in, I miss that one small reminder not to take it so seriously. Not to worry so much about what other people think. I miss that reminder of Gracie. Her sweetness. Her vulnerability.

Poet and essayist Andrea Scarpino lives in Marquette, MI and is a frequent contributor to POTB.

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto