I would argue there’s something inherently
Netflix about brunette. Almost all the
streaming channel’s current crop of leading
ladies lean that way: Sex Education’s Maeve
(blonde until the latest season), The Witcher’s
Yennefer of Vengerberg, The Maid’s Alex,
Squid Game’s Han Mi-nyeo, Stranger Things’
Eleven and Nancy, Behind Her Eyes’ Adele.
Might it be that brunette corresponds more
completely with current TV sensibilities, with
the mystery, fantasy, intensity and horror-
tinged darkness that dominates the telly
schedules right now.
And it would make sense; like any
current trend this one is profoundly influ-
enced — dictated even — by the rigours of
the past two years. If we allow that histori-
cally there is a decadence, a literal and
metaphorical lightness to blonde hair, a
high-maintenance glamour, from Marilyn
to Madonna, Diana to Paris Hilton. Then,
clearly, these dark, serious, “pull yourself
back up by your own bootstraps” times are
better suited to the brunettes. Brown hair
is — at least for some — the rejection of
frivolity in the interest of appearing
powerful, forceful, strong.
Plus, there are Covid-related logistics at
play in the rise of brunette. As Charrière
tweeted, darker “requires less maintenance”,
while Sophie MacCorquodale, celebrity
colourist and the woman I trust entirely to
keep my brunette in check at west London’s
glorious Salon Sloane, explains that
brunette’s dominance might well be the
product of restrictions. “People got used
to seeing their natural hair in lockdown.
Originally they dashed back into salons for
the experience and to feel like themselves
again. However, on doing that they realised
they had changed and wanted their look to
change accordingly. People are bored! They
want action, excitement, change.” At the
same time she thinks the rise of brunette
plays into other emerging trends, political
preoccupations — things not necessarily
related to Covid. “The move to start
rehashing the Noughties, people wanting to
look natural and healthy, and also [thatunaffected, unprocessed naturalness] feels
aligned with the climate movement.”
Zoë Irwin, the colour-trend expert, crea-
tive director and award-winning colourist,
has recommendations for blondes who are
aching to get in on the brunette trend: “Go
for a dark blonde, then into a mid-brown. If
you suddenly go to a really, really dark
brown, then on some days it’s fabulous —
and on some days it’s going to be dreadful.”
Back to me, though, back to my life as a
natural- born brunette. As a brown-haired
youngster in Devon in the 1980s I was
unaware of the way blondeness was prized
by society in general. I was utterly
convinced brunettes had all the luck, that
our faces were better defined by the hair
curtains framing them and our brows were
dramatic by definition. This wasn’t born of
anything like high self-esteem — I had
absolutely none of that, nor did anyone else
— but more of my honest appraisal of phys-
ical facts, my high esteem for the actress
Phoebe Cates who played Lili in the film
version of Lace, the guitar-toting models in
the video for Robert Palmer’s Addicted to
Love, and Helena Christensen, “my” super-
model (in the late 1980s girls picked a
supermodel to be “their one”, just as they’d
pick a Spice Girl a decade on).
It wasn’t until I went to university and
my social parameters extended to embrace
people who came from places more sophisti-
cated than Exeter and my ideas of the world
shifted with them that I began to understand
blondes were widely perceived as more desir-
able. Although I have to say, if I gradually
accepted intellectually this might be the case
(having initially taken it for some sort of cler-
ical error), I never entirely got on board with
it, never stopped quietly pitying naturalBrown hair is
woven into my
identity, formative
of my personality
blondes for being a tad on the pallid side or
bottle blondes their “pick me” urge for atten-
tion. By the late 1990s, even though I was
technically too old to “pick” a Spice Girl,
I picked Posh anyway, because of her attitude
(chic, for a Spice Girl) and her hair, which
were pretty much the same thing, no?
In the early 2000s, as a gainfully employed
journalist, I was dispatched by a newspaper
editor to walk around central London in
a long blonde wig and see if “people
responded differently” (by which I’m pretty
sure she meant “men fancied me more”),
which I did, only to feel less noticeable, less
fancied: washed out and insignificant.
A few years later one adventurous and
creative colourist bleached half of my fringe
white blonde, leaving the rest of it dark.
I enjoyed the statement — even though it
meant I spent the afternoon of my
goddaughter’s seventh birthday encircled
by her mates, all chanting, “You’re Lady
Gaga! You’re Lady Gaga!” at me, like some
kind of nightmare directed by David Lynch
— so I kept it for a bit, all the while aware it
was a “dress-up” ’do.
I got a little older, grey slivers appeared
around my temples, so another colourist did
balayage to soften the impact. I enjoyed that
too, it was extremely, obviously glamorous
and expensive-looking, and it made navy less
dowdy on me — but I was appalled to learn
that someone who didn’t know me had casu-
ally referred to me as “that blonde chick” to a
mutual friend. The idea that people might
label me “a blonde” ruffled me deeply.
When I finally landed a precious appoint-
ment with MacCorquodale, she took one
look at me — the colour of my eyes,
brows, tone of my skin — and took me
straight back to the brunette I was born
with. And maybe it was because her colour
was the first I had out of lockdown, which
was emotional in itself, or maybe because
I’d underestimated how much I had
missed being truly, undeniably, completely
brunette, or maybe it was because, as Irwin
says, “Your natural colour is there for a
reason,” but it felt like coming home. ■From left Camille Cottin as
Andréa Martel in Call My
Agent!, Hailey Bieber, Billie
Eilish, Florence Pugh, Gigi
Hadid, and Lily Collins in
Emily in ParisPolly wears: ribbed top, £15; arket.com. Blazer, £905, the Attico; mytheresa.com. Trousers and jewellery, Polly’s own. Hair and make-up: Alice Theobald at Arlington Artists using Murad, Benefit and Living Proof. Pictures: Getty Images, Netflix
The Sunday Times Style • 41