There are a few of things I like about having pink (or any unnatural/loud/non-Asian color) hair. It’s different. In a nation where the majority of the population are too scared to go beyond black or brown, I stand out. Friends have no trouble picking me out in a crowd (works well in airports) or from a distance and cameramen tend to gravitate towards my head. Like, I’m pretty sure those dudes from Myx or ASAP covering a show would have no interest in getting my opinion to broadcast on national television if I didn’t have pink hair, ya know?
It’s fun; not just having pink hair per se, but playing around with colors. I’ve never liked my natural hair color (black, obviously, since I’m Asian) because it’s boring on me. Not throwing shade on those who choose to “keep it safe” but it’s just not for me. To be frank, if black hair suited me, I wouldn’t have started messing around with my hair color at all.
It makes thing easier. Since dyeing my hair pink, I’ve become lazy with my clothing choices. These days, I just throw on whatever and head out, relying on my hair (and my glittering personality, too, OKAY) to be the center of attention.
It’s a topic for small talk. Person from the internet that I am, I have zero social skills. Most of the time, I have no idea what to say to people I have just met because I am awkward and the things I like are awkward (otherwise known as special snowflake syndrome, fool!). The color of my hair solves that problem, kind of.
People remember you. And by “people”, I really mean Isaac, Taylor, and Zac Hanson. And mostly because where they went, I went, too.
Of course, there are some crappy things I have to deal with, too. In my expert, personal opinion, these are:
The (unwanted) attention (aka why I wrote this entry in the first place). I had a relatively easy day yesterday and had nothing planned out so I thought: “Hey, why not go to Quiapo and spend some money?” (Quiapo is where I get my rings from for dirt cheap). I was about to jump in the shower when I realized what a bad idea that was. Quiapo is knife-to-your-back-pocket scary and the only reasons I managed to survive going there alone is because I walk fast and blend in.
Then there’s the attention I get from every Boy, Jojo, and Baldo on da streets. “Nice hair, bebe.” “Ganda ng buhok ni ate!” “Wow, hair!” etc etc.
Questions. Lots of the same questions. And touching. While not necessarily a bad thing because I understand that people are genuinely curious and it’s not everyday they see a head of pink walking around the metro, there are some days when I just want to buy cat food and ice cream in peace. I’ve been asked so many times if my hair is real, if I’m wearing a wig, if I cosplay, and can they touch it? I’ve had one kid just reach out and try to grab it without even asking, good thing I have cat-like reflexes and ducked away just in time. He’s also lucky I didn’t slam my palm against his nose like they teach us in spy skewl!
Sometimes, I feel like I should wear a sign on my back that says “Plz do not pet the pink hair.”
Upkeep. This is a given. Hair grows and you need your roots at a certain length before you can pass it off as ombre lulz. A lot of people ask how often I bleach/color my hair (sometimes on the WWW, sometimes IRL); the answer is every month.
And then you have to care for it with regular keratin treatments (the only way to make nice with bleached tresses) and hair care stuff like Moroccan argan oil (which is apparently expensive here so I’m planning to stock up on my next trip to Singapore).
The wrong people will remember you. By default, I am a paranoid person. Every now and then, I worry that there’s some creepy dude out there who watches me on my way home
from work everyday, waiting for the perfect time to pounce and kidnap me. Hey, it could happen. This is why I change my routine once in a while, either by taking a different route or by coming and going at a different hour. Ya know, just to keep things fresh and throw him off. But nope, not possible with my hair. Even if I were to change it every week, he would still know it’s me because he’s looking out for that girl.
Tonight, I went to the gotohan across my apartment to buy dinner and this young guy who works there asked me: “Bakit hindi ka na nagpapalit ng kulay? Diba dati, nag-red ka? Tapos dilaw?”
He’s pretty scrawny so I think I can take him on if the need ever arises.