STYLE: Make me a Michael Kors blonde who loves a cocktail at lunch
There's something inherently absurd about presenting a picture to a hair stylist and saying, "I want to look like that." Clearly, few of us will ever be mistaken for supermodel Gisele or Kate Hudson or even Faye Dunaway, my favorite blonde. Knowing that, wouldn't it make more sense to describe the personae one desires? Our appearance is the first nod to our image and you can tell a lot by a woman's peroxide aura. After all, there are trashy blondes (with platinum candy floss hair) like Paris Hilton who don't wear underwear. You could say to your hairdresser: "Make me a blonde who eschews undies and would probably sleep with her sister's husband." Or, you might prefer the Wasp-wanna be honey blonde of Gwyneth Paltrow and beg for: "The Upper East Side kind of blonde who talks incessantly about her last trek in India and smokes an occasional Marlboro Light in the garage." Then, there's my recent request: "Okay. I see myself as a blonde who loves a cocktail at lunch. Maybe two. She prefers a Labrador to a terrier and wishes she could wear a beret, but it always looks dumb and makes her forehead itch." My stylist simply nodded and dashed off to mix up a batch of color. At noon, I'll be the one swilling a dirty martini.
photos: Michael Kors runway shot, WireImage; Faye Dunaway, Paramount.