Tis the East and Juliet is Blonde

I’ve started to realize that I unrealistically categorize women by hair color. Which doesn’t mean there’s a blonde joke coming up anytime soon. Well, maybe, since now that I mention it, I can’t resist.

Q: What do you call a smart blonde?

A: A Golden Retriever.

Right, now that that’s out of my system.

If you aren’t aware, I’m rather single at the moment. This time around, I’m constraining my dating to women between 21 and 30 (with leanings toward women 23-28). I’ve given in and dated a few too many twenty year olds and thus far it’s not been terribly satisfactory. Not really anyone’s fault, it’s simply that most young people don’t know what direction they want their life to go. Lord knows I didn’t at 20.  (Not to mention that whole finishing college and getting a job who knows where thing.) Those who think they do -often- discover that what they thought they wanted changes. I’ve known some wonderful young women, their lives just weren’t settled enough to make our relationship a real commitment. Anyway, that has little to do with hair color.

In my frequent online browsing of the limited choices in the surrounding area, I realized that I tend to immediately put pretty blondes on a pedestal and move on. As if something about being pretty and blonde meant that they’re more goddess than human and less likely to have easy, fun conversation or share interests with someone like me. I think I’ve unconsciously been doing this for a while now. Years, really. I don’t know that’s it’s fair to them, nor myself.

Brunettes, well, much more approachable. As if somehow being dark haired made them more “down to earth,” and more inclined to a kind nature. I like beauty in all shades, but something about dark hair sprawled across my pillow really appeals to me. Dark hair and blue eyes? Spectacular. Though I have navy pillowcases right now, so maybe blonde would be a nicer contrast. ;P

Finally, there’s the rare red head. I’m in the “red head’s are either one end of the spectrum or the other” camp, gorgeous or unpalatable. I do like red heads, much as I like Russian women. As if all red heads (and Russians,) are straightforward, direct and let you know when, what, why, and how angry they are with you. I will admit a preference to what I like to “Scandinavian red” over the Scots-Irish tint. Green eyes, blue eyes, it doesn’t matter. I’ve dated one and wanted to date another. Pretty good, for the aforementioned rarity.

So there you go, you are now equally aware of my natural inclination to stereotype how dateable a woman is by the color of her hair. Much as you do, I think that being aware of this will hopefully allow me to begin to let go of these pre-misconceptions. Bear with me, however, there’s history that led to these developments and habits are oh, so hard, to break.