I'd like to introduce myself: I'm Hillary, and I am a blonde. Notice that I didn’t say: I'm Hillary, and I have blonde hair. That's an important distinction because I am one of those women: A forever blonde.
As a child, I had authentically flaxen hair: a pure, delicious, baby-blonde shade that’s become the hallmark of fairytale heroines, from Cinderella to Goldilocks, Rapunzel to Sleeping Beauty. I loved that I visually favored my Viennese grandma (we called her Omi), with her patrician, Estée Lauder-like looks and trademark curly blonde mane. It wasn’t until around the age of 12 that puberty began slowly turning my proud blonde into a shade that can only be described as mousy, dishwater-brown. If memory serves, I referred to myself as “dark blonde” for years, resolutely refusing to accept the reality of the situation.
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