As I walk in, their heads turn. I am not stunningly gorgeous, nor am I anything too out of the ordinary, but still I catch their eyes. Perhaps all humans are attracted to color: My hair is filled with it, practically dripping with it. Fuchsia, pink as flowers. To them, I’m just another stupid teenager, altering my perfectly good hair color for this. Perhaps they think I want attention; maybe they think I’m just a drama queen, craving a look and a glance and a raised eyebrow. But I’m not.

Strange as it seems, strange as it sounds, I like my hair this color simply for the sake of having pink hair. There is no ulterior motive and no deep psychological need for attention. It does seem strange that I, shy, dorky girl that I am inside, can get attention just from a ten-dollar box of dye and an hour-long procedure. Isn’t that magical? Color can transform who you are, the fabric. And it isn’t just unnatural colors. Blonde hair can transform someone’s normal hair color from dishwater brown to shining, standout gold.

And when it has faded, when my hair is its natural hue once more, will I forget the bright eyes of the little girl who asks why my hair is purple? Will I forget the stares, the attention?

I don’t think I ever will.

((Author’s note: This was kind of pointless, but I had fun writing it. If you’ve never had pink hair, you should totally try it. Haha.))