The real color of my hair is mouse. I always want to be ginger, which I was when I was born, or blond, because I live in L.A., and I want to look like I go surfing without any physical effort.
I really like red hair. I think if you have brown hair, you want blond hair; if you have blond hair, you want blue hair. We always want what we don't have. It takes a while to admit, Hey, it's just part of me.
I don't dye my hair. It's so fabulous. I had brown hair for so long. I was always getting my roots done. Sometimes I did it myself because I couldn't afford to go to a hair salon. When I turned 60, I decided to see what color I am underneath. I started dyeing my hair a very light blond and then I let it grow out. I cut it very short.
Trouble is, I'm not a real ginger. I'm just a ginger-bearded, pale-skinned, strawberry blond.
Immortality is what nature possesses without effort and without anybody's assistance, and immortality is what the mortals must therefore try to achieve if they want to live up to the world into which they were born, to live up to the things which surround them and to whose company they are admitted for a short while.
And, look, I'm sorry if I have blond hair and blue eyes and my boyfriend looks like a vampire. What do you want me to do about it?
I wanted to be like my friends. I hung out with girls who had blue eyes and blond hair and I thought, 'I want to look like them!'
I wanted to be like my friends. I hung out with girls who had blue eyes and blond hair and I thought, "I want to look like them!"
It is so expensive to take care of my hair and keep it looking like I was born with it, when my real hair is the color of rat fur.
People always want you to look pretty. I would like to live in the Midwest in a small town and never put makeup on. But they won't let you do that. Once I went through a period when I did do that, wore no makeup, wore my hair any which way, and people looked at me like I was a bum.
Once you dye your hair for the first time, you see other people with dyed hair, and you see them differently than you did before. And you're just like 'Yes! Live! Work that color! Yes, I love you in every way! You're killin' it! I want to do that color next!'
Dyeing my hair has become a kind of addiction. I can't see myself as anything other than blond. Once you go blond, you stay blond forever.
It's fun to be blond, and it's almost difficult to remember how I used to look with my proper hair color.
Now look at me! Take a good look! I was born and I knew I was alive and I knew what I wanted. What do you think is alive in me? Why do you think I'm alive? Because I have a stomach and eat and digest the food? Because I breathe and work and produce more food to digest? Or because I know what I want, and that something which knows how to want—isn't that life itself? And who—in this damned universe—who can tell me why I should live for anything but for that which I want?
I WANT to be a saint. I want to save souls by the millions. I want to do good far and wide. I want to fight evil! I want my life-sized statue in every church. I'm talking six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes-.Wait a second.Do you know who I am?
Relaxing your hair is like being in prison. You're caged in. Your hair rules you. You didn't go running with Curt today because you don't want to sweat out this straightness. You're always battling to make your hair do what it wasn't meant to do.
When we were kids, I remember we'd use lemon in our hair and go into the sun, hoping it would make us blond. Obviously, I have very dark hair and olive skin, and when I was a kid, I wanted to be blond, of course. It never worked.