Yes, that is me….blonde hair and all. What was I thinking?
The year was 1981 and I was at the peak of my Wild Years. I thought I was pretty hot in the gay scene. You know, big fish in a small pond (Philadelphia).
Every summer I used to vacation in Provincetown, Mass. Provincetown for those of you who aren’t aware of the gay scene is the or WAS the gay summertime mecca for gay boys and gals. I always enjoyed my vacations in P-town. I loved to work on my tan and just enjoy the freedom of being gay and inhibited. And of course there was always the chance that I would meet SOMEBODY.
So this year, 1981, I thought I would comb a little peroxide in my hair and let the sun bleach it. That I did and my hair bleached an ugly shade of blonde! OMG! What was I going to do now? I DIDN’T LIKE IT!
I went on vacation anyway just to see how I would make out (so to speak) in P-town. Well guess what? I wasn’t mobbed at the P-town airport when I landed with my new blonde hair, I wasn’t sought after at the daily afternoon tea dance at the Boatslip. I wasn’t even noticed when I slithered into the Atlantic House and Backstreet bar at night. So much for the new Blonde Ron. I don’t know whether my reception had to do with my new blonde look or that I was so self-conscious that I turned people off. All I knew was I wanted my normal dark brown hair back.
My father is a blonde as are both of my younger brothers. My Mother has dark brown hair like I do. I guess I wanted to look like my good-looking straight brothers. Well you know the old saying “Be careful what you wish for.”
When I got home I couldn’t wait for my hair to grow out. Of course in the meantime I had to explain to my co-workers at the bank where I worked in Philadelphia as an operations manager, why all of a sudden I had blonde hair. Saying I spent “too much time in the sun” just wasn’t cutting it.
The next year when I went on vacation to Provincetown I returned with my normal, mysterious, alluring DARK brown hair. I was mobbed at the airport (not really), sought out at the tea dance (sort of) and aroused a great deal of interest at the Atlantic House and Back Street bar (with some guys).
So the moral of the story is “Blonde may have more fun but gentlemen really DO prefer brunettes.”