"You Can't be a Tortured Soul - You're Blonde"
“You can’t be a tortured soul – you’re blond!” she said.
“But I’m not a pure blond –an innocent Barbie and Ken blond!” I protested.
“I’m sandy blond, dishwater blond, ash blond”
“Blonds tainted with crudeness, filth, and destruction!”
But suddenly, it occurred to me
What if she’s right?
I never thought about it before.
Can it be true?
A sudden brainstorm unfurled in my head.
Mozart, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky
I don’t know! I did book reports on all of them, but back then black-and-white photos and wigs were all the rage!
Poe, Hemingway, Tennessee Williams
Even in black-and-white their hair is much too dark to be blond.
Even sandy blond, dishwater blond, or ash blond.
Van Gogh?
He’s a redhead.
Such a dumb and superficial observation I thought to myself.
I actually laughed out loud when she said it.
“You can’t be a tortured soul - you’re blond!”
But this silly remark echoed portentously in my head.
What if I’m not a tortured soul?!
I felt dizzy and sick.
My world as I knew it was collapsing on top of me –
This frail construction of an ego I built upon the heavily researched, and thoroughly thought out conclusion that I was an artist was being decimated by a few, simple well-chosen words:
“You can’t be a tortured soul - you’re blond!”
Years of soul searching wasted poring over countless psychology books: Jung, Meyers-Briggs, the Enneagram…
I feel cheated now.
Nowhere in these books did it say, “Stop here if you’re blond!”
“You can’t be a tortured soul – you’re blond!” she said.
“But I’m not a pure blond –an innocent Barbie and Ken blond!” I protested.
“I’m sandy blond, dishwater blond, ash blond”
“Blonds tainted with crudeness, filth, and destruction!”
But suddenly, it occurred to me
What if she’s right?
I never thought about it before.
Can it be true?
A sudden brainstorm unfurled in my head.
Mozart, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky
I don’t know! I did book reports on all of them, but back then black-and-white photos and wigs were all the rage!
Poe, Hemingway, Tennessee Williams
Even in black-and-white their hair is much too dark to be blond.
Even sandy blond, dishwater blond, or ash blond.
Van Gogh?
He’s a redhead.
Such a dumb and superficial observation I thought to myself.
I actually laughed out loud when she said it.
“You can’t be a tortured soul - you’re blond!”
But this silly remark echoed portentously in my head.
What if I’m not a tortured soul?!
I felt dizzy and sick.
My world as I knew it was collapsing on top of me –
This frail construction of an ego I built upon the heavily researched, and thoroughly thought out conclusion that I was an artist was being decimated by a few, simple well-chosen words:
“You can’t be a tortured soul - you’re blond!”
Years of soul searching wasted poring over countless psychology books: Jung, Meyers-Briggs, the Enneagram…
I feel cheated now.
Nowhere in these books did it say, “Stop here if you’re blond!”