By MOLLY JACOBSON
Journalism II
Junior Molly Jacobson experiences the effects of transforming her appearance from her natural brunette hair color to a blonde wig. | Photo courtesy of Molly Jacobson
I am at the wig store, and there are about 100 different wigs scattered throughout the store.
At five foot two with dark brown hair, I decided I would see what it was like to walk in the shoes of a blonde.
Don’t get me wrong, I love being a brunette, but in the back of my mind I had always wondered if blondes seem to have it easier and stand out more than brunettes, so I decided to experience the Tampa nightlife as “Blonde Molly” and find out whether or not blondes really do have more fun.
I try on several wigs at the store, they are either not blonde enough, not long enough or just plain weird.
The Asian woman working behind the counter points across the store to a luxurious long blonde human haired wig with side bangs like my natural hair.
As I walk out the store with my new friend in hand, I am unaware of just how much trouble comes with being blonde.
I don’t usually go out on a Tuesday night, but the Blonde Molly had other plans. I was going to go out and have a drink or two.
I walk right into the bar with my friend Joe and no one checked my ID.
“Wow, that was easy,” I say to myself. Either I look really good blonde or they don’t have door guys on Tuesdays.
Jeans, heels, white tank top and a blonde wig.
Not my usual going out attire, but I needed to keep it simple to try and tone down the drastic change to my appearance. It’s humid out and the fans on the ceilings are on full blast.
I’m hoping my wig is securely pinned as I walk around with my head held high.
“Oh my god, I love you, just want to tell you, I love you,” slurs some drunk guy at the bar.
“Thanks,” I reply as I walk passed him.
The bartender, who I knew, complimented my hair but said he likes me better as a brunette.
“My friend, he loves you,” said the drunk guy’s friend stumbling towards me. “He thinks you’re beautiful.”
The bar, MacDintons Irish Pub, was going really well.
The blonde seemed to be a hit, and the attention I was getting was fueling the fire.
Blonde Molly decided it would be a good choice to then go to Hyde Park Café, drink a little bit more and see what other attention I could get as a blonde.
This time my ID was checked at the door. The man looks at me and then my brunette ID and lets me in.
I wonder, when I use my ID here with my natural hair I get rejected, but with blonde hair I’m let in.
Plus one for blondie.
There, I meet this bar back named Eric. He just got out of the Marines, at 32 years old he looks a mere 23 years old, tall, dark and handsome. Just my type.
We talk for a while and he finally asks me for my number.
Excitedly I give it to him and flirted a little bit more, making sure I would get a phone call or text the next day.
Needless to say, I get a text the next day from Eric saying it was really nice to meet you and I hope to see you out again soon. I replied me too, let me know when you go out again.
Eric texted me on a Friday night asking to meet up, I am standing on the pier of Harbour Island waiting for this guy and he’s not around.
I don’t really remember exactly how he looked because of the intoxication when I met him, and finally I see a guy texting and look at my phone it says “where are you I don’t see you.”
I text back assuring him I was standing by the little bar down the steps. I finally realize who he is and go up to him.
“I have been standing down there for a half hour.”
“Molly? I thought you were blonde, I was looking for a blonde girl,” he said.
Then I explained to him my little experiment, and he made it clear I look way better as a brunette.
As exciting and scary it was being blonde, I knew I was a true brunette at heart and would never be able to pull off the bleached blonde LA girl look.
I realized I like who I am and that my hair color does not define who I am.
The blonde may make more people look, but being brunette I seemed to be more approachable.
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