Why are there no good quotes about brunettes?

Around 6pm last night my life as a blond was suddenly cut short and my new life as a dark-chestnut brunette rapidly began. As Polly, my stylist, stripped my hair of it's natural color and applied one of a much darker tone, I wondered out loud if a female's hair color really affects her status as much as the dumb-blond, boring-brunette stereotypes make us think. Polly, in her heavy Brooklyn accent, answered, "Of course it does, sweethaaaat."

Before I could ask what she meant, she lurched into a conversation about her mother's lack of interest in the trends of hairstyles ("the woman has the same damn haacut she had in the 70's, fa Christssake!"), and when having a conversation with Polly, the only acceptable subject matter is what Polly wants to talk about. That being said, I was left to research and conclude an answer to my probing question by myself.

The results were not surprising. According to various sources, polls, and ignorant men, as a brunette, I am:

• Better suited for marriage than my flaxen-haired counterparts
• Plain, humble, and eager to please (Hahahahahaha!)
• "Earthy" (Because my hair is the color of tree bark? If we are going to base our traits off of the color of other items, does this mean I have been greedy all along, since my hazel eyes mirror copper pennies?)
• Intelligent, self-sufficient, and independent (My dad would say otherwise. "You better marry rich!" he likes to say)

So, although I can only speak for myself, I am definitely not fitting of the brunette-stereotype, and I plan to have just as much fun as a brunette as I did as a blond. I am still attractive. I will probably still be on the receiving end of stupid pick-up lines from stupid men. I don't feel any less, or more, intelligent.

I dyed my hair dark because I felt like it.

If someone said, "Why did the green-eyed girl stare at the orange juice carton for an hour? Because it said concentrate!," we would, by default, consider that person an idiot.

"You're stereotyping someone because of their eye color?" we would ask, bewildered. "That's just dumb."

So why doesn't the same theory go for hair color? Personally, I think it has to do with the walls we build to separate and classify ourselves, as if somehow something as simple as the color of our hair can make us different- better, smarter, more fun, whatever- than someone else.

Whoever said you can't buy happiness doesn't know where to go shopping.

Yesterday it seemed a good idea to go shopping. Four shirts, two minidresses, a pair of jeans, and four hours later, I left the mall, satisfied with my findings. As I secured my bags in the passenger seat of my car (I tend to do that when I'm so excited about a new outfit that it may strike me as I drive to seize the bag and pull out an article of clothing so that I may envision myself wearing it, as was the case of an adorbale chiffon dress I found yesterday at Macy's), the question of why I -and most women- find such satisfation out of spending money at the mall came to mind.

It's certainly a stereotype, and while not all women love to shop, for a large percentage shopping is the ultimate relaxation. There's nothing better than a good deal on a cute pair of shoes, a certain friend of mine likes to say. Perhaps this logic is the reason why, despite the fact that women only make 78 cents for every dollar a man makes, they make 80% of buying decisions in all homes. After all, as the saying goes, men buy, and women shop.

I've done a bit of research and considered several opinions on why the former is true. Perhaps women love to shop because it's a basic instinct of anything female to gather. However, this theory seems a little off when put into context, in saying that a woman adds to her closet the same way a bird adds a piece of string to her nest. Another theory is that women shop because it is what they are "programmed" to do, the same way little girls play with Barbies and little boys are given Tonka firetrucks. I don't think this idea is dead-on though, either, considering shopping in general is not as pleasurable as shopping for ourselves. Which brings me to my own theory, all others considered, of why nothing feels as good as seeing a pair of skinny jeans on sale.

I think we love to shop because we cling to the hope that material items will enhance our status and attractiveness. I know it's at least true for me; just the other night I was watching an episode of Rock of Love Bus with Bret Michaels and noticed a scoop-neck tunic that Arkansas firecracker Kelsey was sporting. I need that top, I thought to myself as I studied the sequened neckline. If it looks that good on her, it'll look better on me. And so the first thoughts of my quest at the mall were born.

It doesn't seem too far-fetched to think that the general idea of women at the mall is that if we can find that perfect shade of lipstick (Yves Saint Laurent Rouge Pur Shine in Pink Diamond is my poison) or that adorable curve hugging strapless dress, we will transform into goddesses- men will fall in heaps at our Jimmy Choo adorned feet, our bosses will promote us, our enemies will bite the bullet and be forced to ask where, oh where did you find that chic belt?

The media (and I use that term lightly; I am, after all, a journalism major) has long perpetuated the idea that a woman's success in life is closely tied with her appearance, not to mention the amount of money she spends on that appearance. And so we march down the aisles of Coach, Macy's, and Bloomingdale's, our credit cards out like weapons, certain the next Luis Vuitton bag we purchase will ultimately transform us into beauty queens. It's consumerism. It's relaxation. It's vanity.

And even those things considered don't stop us from selecting that perfect Juicy Coture fragrance, swiping those credit cards,and buying, buying, buying.