I have always been a fan of red-headed women. Oh and blonde-haired ones too. Of course I love brunettes as well. From deep auburn to fiery titian, platinum blonde to ash blonde, chestnut to raven black I love them all. Show me red-gold, mahogany, black brown, highlights or lowlights they all work for me. Long hair, short hair, cropped, bobbed, straight or curly. I love them all. I recall on one occasion talking with a female friend who I had designs on. We were sat in the café of an art gallery and the topic moved onto hair. She asked me what was my favourite type of hair colour.
“Oh raven black,most definitely, I shot back without even pausing to think.”
She smiled and raised a hand to push it through her raven black locks. If the waitress had come over and asked the same question then I would have said blonde as I gazed at her short bobbed blonde hair. On other occasions I might get asked this by someone else and naturally I would tell them my favourite. Lo and behold it just happened to be the same as the one she had.
“You are just saying that because it is my colour,” she responded.
“No, it is my absolute favourite. All of my previous girlfriends had strawberry blonde hair.”
“Really? I thought the one before me was a brunette. I saw a picture of her.”
“Oh her? No, no, she was not my girlfriend. Goodness me no, she was just a friend. Admittedly we did lock lips a couple of times, but it was nothing, she was a tad obsessed if you really must know.”
“Was she? I am sure you referred to her as your girlfriend.”
“You must have her confused with an earlier one maybe. No, always been ladies with strawberry blonde hair, it is a particular weakness of mine.”
If she had green hair with blue dots in it I would have said the exact same thing. Sometimes these comments have been said so many times but with the appropriate alterations that I cannot help but say them. Occasionally, if my target has some awareness and has been listening, I might contradict myself but I have enough charm and evasiveness to get out of the situation.
Hair colours and hair styles are such a useful device for currying favour with a target or by contrast upsetting them. When all is well in the world and we are enjoying our golden period, then whatever you do to your hair I love it. You can colour it, put in extensions or even shave it all off. I will always tell you how beautiful you look because that is what you want to hear. With every visit to the hairdresser’s a lady wants that compliment. I have seen you sashaying back from a visit to the salon and parading before me. I will be effusive in my praise, espousing how natural it looks, how the colour sets off your eyes and the shape frames your face magnificently. I have a whole list of suitably complimentary comments to churn out when you return with your new ‘do’.
The stock that a lady places in the power of a new hair style of hair cut is such that it really makes it too easy to gather some negative fuel. I can tell you are really happy with this new style and you are just waiting for the compliments. Not today. Why should it be all about you and your new hairstyle? What about me? I look after my hair too and have it cut every twelve days so it always looks smart, but do you say anything? No. You regard a man and his hair as purely something of function. You on the other hand regard the colour and style as an opportunity to express yourself. Feel free because I am only to happy to rain on your parade and make that sleek do go frizzy. I will frown and peer at your new hairstyle.
“What’s wrong?” you ask as your triumphant smile vanishes.
“It does not suit you.”
“Why? How? Roger at the salon said it was very me.”
“Well he would when you spend that ridiculous sum of money there. It does not suit you. It makes your face look too….severe.”
“Are you serious?”
Damn right I am serious. This is about getting some lovely fuel from you and this is too good an opportunity to pass up. Whereas once I rolled out the barrage of compliments, I know issue my damning verdict on how wrong the colour is, it is too short, too long, too voluminous. I will pick fault and soon have you running from the room to the bedroom to cry and try and alter it. You bring it on yourselves you know, you really do.